


The Colors of Carraway

by TheSafePlace



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: ALL VERY INACCURATE DEPICTIONS I AM NOT A DOCTOR, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drinking, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Titles, Jay Gatsby Lives, M/M, My First Fanfic, Organized Crime, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, but later, title might change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSafePlace/pseuds/TheSafePlace
Summary: On that one summer afternoon, when the sun crowned it's golden rays upon that enchanting green light, Jay Gatsby was killed, leaving only the shattered remains of the man he played to perfection.Now abandoned by the light of his life, he'll have to figure out who Gatsby is, and find a new light for himself. All while his enemies encroach all around him. Will Gatsby rise back to the green and gold? Or will new colors crown his light?One thing is for certain.Nick Carraway will not let him drown again.Previously titledThe Case with Carraway.I’m trying out this new title.
Relationships: Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby
Comments: 25
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I read through this again, and spotted some grammar errors, so I changed it. :P
> 
> EDIT2: FCK I NEED AN EDITOR; wrong words were used fck.

She called me. She still loved me. I always knew she did. Even if she couldn’t say it, she did. Even if she couldn’t make it, she was mine. The very thought of finally making her my own choking me, filling my heart and lungs with such elatedness I could feel myself floating, being filled. My precious... mine... mine... mine...

“Jay,” She called to me. “Wait for me, doll? I’ll be there, soon. Then, everything’ll be perfect again. Just like you wanted! Like what we always dreamed off!”

I gave her a fond smile, as I began to doze off to sleep. I reached out to touch her soft porcelain skin, just one more time before I go. Just once more. Just to know that I have her with me.

“Wake up soon, okay, Jay?” My eyebrows quirked, but my eyelids remain closed. She sounds hoarse. Must be tired, as well. She touches my hand. They’re rougher than I remember, more calloused.

“Please, wake up. Please...”

I blink my eyes open, only to shut them close again, assaulted by such blinding light. It’s sunset, however. It shouldn’t be this bright. I squint them open, inviting just enough light to enter to re-acquaint myself to the daylight.

“Jay?” A familiar voice sitting by the bed calls. “Oh my God, Jay, you’re alive!” Nick held my hand harder, as he draped himself over me, locking me in a tight hug. Sweet as this, however, it’s really twisting something fierce inside me, making me groan.

Nick lets go immediately. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry! I-I-I didn’t mean to! I just- I forgot! And I was just so scared andIdidn’tthinkyou’dactually-”

“It’s alright, old sport. I’m fine” I wince a bit, as I readjusted myself to a better position. Where am I? This certainly doesn’t look like any of the rooms in my palace. It’s far too small, has the absolute most dreadfully bland colors (Is all of this just beige?!) to boot, and of course, this bed. It’s practically made of concrete. My spine feels dead on it!

“What happened? Where is this place?”

“You don’t remember?” Nick gives me a pained look.

“Sadly, no.”

“You were shot. At your own pool.” Ah, right. Daisy finally called that afternoon, and I got out to answer it. Then... this happened.

“I called to see how you were doing, then I heard the gunshot.” Nick says. Wait? He called? No, that can’t be right. Daisy was the one who called. He must have called later? Right?

“Edgar went running, and left me hanging. I was so scared. I... I thought of the worst.” Nick trembled, his hands clasping and shaking. “I left work then and there, and came driving to your home like the devil possessed me.” He gave a short disheartening laugh, “Almost ran over another woman trying to get there.”

“What about Daisy? Where is she? What did she say?” I asked, my heart hanging by a thread.

Nick sighed deeply. Far too deeply, that it ran shivers down my spine. “I tried to call her but...”

My anxiety got the better of me then, “Dammit, Nick, stop teasing and just spit it out already!”

Nick was shocked, but unsurprised, “She... left a few days ago. With Tom.” I felt the air be ripped out of my lungs. With Tom, huh? Then... that’s that.

“I begged her to visit, at least just once, or even leave a note or something, anything! Just to give you something when you wake up. But they didn’t even let me talk to her. Just said they were gone.” Nick trails off, looking dejectedly at me. Gone. She was gone again. This time she means it.

Time ground slowly forwards. Seconds turning to hours before I turned away from Nick.

“Fuck her.” I whisper so softly, that Nick had to stand and lean forward. “Fuck. Her.” I ground out, hard, feeling every letter leave my mouth. “Let her rot with her whore of a husband, and die a miserable, loveless life, choking on all the diamond necklaces she can hang herself with!” I screamed till my chest threatened to collapse in on itself, tears burning on my cheeks. “Shit means nothing to her! I did all of this, all of it! For her! And she leaves it for her shit life with that shit man! Well, I’ll burn it down! Burn it all down with her in it!

Nick locks me in his strong arms, struggling to keep me from flailing, careful not to put his entire weight on me, so as not to split my stitches. Nick is crying now too. Nurses come running into the room, trying to keep me down.

“Gatsby! Stop it! She’s nobody now! You’re better than her! Better than any of them combined!” I heave into his arms, hefty breaths coming out, wrecked and burning. When did he lay down beside me?

“I don’t have anyone, old sport. No one. No one cares.”

Nick lays his head on my shoulders. “I care, Gatsby. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

We stay like that for some time. Nick holding me close, turning me to his side, so I don’t lay on my wound. Me, sobbing silently as he coos empty reassurances at me. I don’t know when, but I fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

I woke up again in the middle of the night. Nick had been fast asleep beside me, his arms still around me, no longer locked, but still a comforting presence in the aftermath of my fall. I hope he does stay for the coming lonely eternity that I will have to suffer through. Damn you, Daisy, you beautiful, merciless goddess. Damn you forever for taking my heart and soul.

I get up, carefully moving a pillow to replace my spot, setting Nick’s arm down on it. He stirred a bit but simply hugged tighter on the pillow. I move over to one of the open windows, the gentle night breeze lulling the gray curtains about. A soft mist had blanketed Long Island. We were in its quieter parts, it seemed. Nothing but the sound of lapping waves in the distance, and the occasional far-off rumbling of a car to keep the silence from bearing down completely on me.

How long was I out? Days? Weeks? I try to see where my home was, but instead I see it. The unmistakable glint of green. Even so far off, even so insignificantly minuscule, still it defiantly glows, shining a light to where my heart should have been, but instead illuminating nothing. It’s fallible glow, attempting to ignite something inside me, but how can something be there, where there is none left to be.

“Gatsby?” My trance was broken by a small, almost imperceptible voice. Had it not been a familiar one, I surely would have never noticed it. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. Your stitches will get loose.” He holds me by my shoulders, and guides me to the bed.

“Here, you can have all the space you want. I’ll sleep on the couch-”

I held his hand, “No, old sport. Stay. Please.” A silent plead.

Nick grabs a stool from under the bed and sat on it, not once letting go of my hand. “I’ll stay. Just don’t get out of bed, alright?”

I lay down on the bed, and stare blankly at the ceiling, Nick resting his head on the edge of the bed, his other arm underneath it. He falls asleep first, his hand going lax, while I continue to stare off into nothing, that accursed light still demanding to be seen.

* * *

The next day is announced with a knocking upon the door. Nick stirs awake and let’s go of my hand, as a nurse walks in, “Mr. Carraway, Mr. Gatsby has a visitor.” I didn’t want to wake up so, so I didn’t. Though, what came next sent me spiraling back through time.

The guest begins with an unsure tinge on his lips, “Hello, Mr. Carraway? My name is Henry Gatz, I’m-”

“Gatsby’s father.” Nick softly exclaims. “I’m Nick Carraway, Gatsby’s friend. Please, call me Nick.”

“Yes, Nick, I-” He pauses, an almost indiscernible tremble in his voice, “I heard about the news. I wanted to see if Jimmy was alright.”

Nick looks to me “Yeah, he’s asleep right now. Doctors said he’ll need some weeks to recover, but he’ll be fine.”

My old man nods, a weighty sigh released from his frail body. “That’s good to hear.”  
“I tried to reach you but, Gatsby didn’t have your number or address. And no one really knew about you. I half-thought you were dead.”  
“Well, you’re half-right that one o’ us is dead, but that’s a-” My father pauses, a forlorn breath heaving out. “Story for ‘nother time.” He pats Nick on his shoulder. “Anyway, it’s nice to see that Jimmy has such a good friend to take care o’ him.” The smile obvious in his voice. Nick laughs lightly at the praise.

“Jimmy still has a big future ahead o’ him. He might be a young man, but he has a lot o’ brain power up here.” He tapped impressively on his forehead, and Nick nodded.

“He’ll help this country yet. Build it up like James J. Hill.” My stomach squirms. For all the hard years my old man had to go through, somehow, he managed to stay the same honest man he always been. To have that naive bliss, I wonder how that feel

“That’s true,” Nick agrees, though there was no strength in it.

Father sits down on the couch by the window, his knees and back creaking from the effort. “Ugh, gettin’ too old for travel, Jim-Jim. Lucky I’m not too old though.” He chuckles.  
“He’s lucky to have you as his father”  
Father gives him a jaunty “Hmph!” Then adds, “I’m lucky to be his father!” “Would you like something? Coffee, maybe?”  
“Yes, thank you. Just black, please.”

Nick fills two mugs for them both, though Nick doesn’t put sugar in his, like he usually likes. He hands one to my old man.

“Thank you.” He cups his coffee with both of his hands, taking a long, slow swig of it. “You know, we was broke up when he run off from home, but ever since he made his success, he was very generous with me ‘n his mom. Got us a decent home ‘n everythin’, though his mom didn’t want anything too big. Sweet ‘ol Delia, bless her soul. She loved the simple things in life.” My father sniffles. The warm memories of my mother giving us both a bad case of sweat-eye.

Nick gives gentle pats on my father’s shoulder, while the old man composes himself. “Anyway, Nick, I uh- Thank you for looking after my kid. I’ll take it over from here.” A panic rises inside me. As much as I love my father, I don’t want him to see me like this. The broken and pathetic shell of the man I built myself to be. And what if Wolfsheim comes for a visit? That’s the last I want to happen.

Thankfully, the old sport had the right idea too, “Oh, that’s not necessary, Mr. Gatz. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m his father! It’s my job to take care of him.” The old man stood up, and so did Nick.  
“And I’m sure he would be delighted to know that you offered to. But right now-” Nick stumbles around his tongue, the keys to my palace jangling in his pockets. “Right now, he needs someone to look after his estate.” He fishes his copy of keys out of his pockets, and practically shoves it into his hands. “He wouldn’t want anything to happen to it while he was out like this. And honestly, it’s hard going back and forth like this.”  
“You sure about this, boy?”  
“Of course! It would be a big help to Jimmy.”  
The old man shakes the keys tentatively, giving Nick a confused stare. He concedes in the end.  
“Alright, if you say it’ll help ‘ol Jimmy here.”  
My father walks out, but before he could leave, Nick remembers to say, “Tell them who you are, and that Nick Carraway sent you!”  
My father nods, and gives an unenthusiastic “Hmm” before he closes the door behind him, Nick sighing, hands on his hips.

I sat up on the bed, “I’m not a good son.”  
“You’re awake.” His brows furrow. “Were you awake this whole time?”  
“Yes. I just wanted to sleep for a bit longer.”  
Nick nods, then shakes his head. “What do you mean you’re not good?”  
“You know what I’ve done, old sport.”  
“So?”  
“That’s not what a good son does.”  
“You mean giving your dirt-poor parents a decent life?”  
I turn away from him, “I hurt people, old sport. Ran over and dragged so many people under me to get where I am today.”  
Nick shift uncomfortably, “That maybe so, but you’ve done some good in your life too.” He exclaims, more to himself than me.  
“Like?”  
Nick looked around as though the walls were whispering him to him the answers.  
“You protected Daisy when she ran over that woman.”  
“Look where that got me.”  
Nick shook, “It was still good, even if she didn’t deserve it.”  
“It was just one selfish act to keep my dream alive.”  
Nick cast his eyes elsewhere, again looking to the walls for answers. “You opened your home to anyone willing to come.”  
“Hoping that a wedded woman would come wandering into my chambers and let me have her.” Nick struggles to find another answer. When he thinks he’s found one, he stops dead in his tracks.  
“Face it, old sport, I’m a rotten son, and an even more rotten person.”

Nick slumps down on the couch again. The day had only begun, but he already looked so tired.

“You could still be the son he believes you to be.”

We sat in silence, the effort to break it growing harder and harder until it was too much for either of us to accomplish. The nurse had done it for us however, barging into the room and cheerily shattering the thick wall we had built between us. Whether I was thankful for it or not, I couldn’t know.

She brought my breakfast with her. “The doctor will be coming back for a visit soon, he’ll check your vitals, then he’ll be able to tell you when you can go home.” After performing her check-up, she turns to Nick, “The cafeteria’s open now, Mr. Carraway. You can eat whenever you’d like. We’ll keep an eye on Mr. Gatsby while you’re gone."  
“Thank you, Marge. I’ll go later.”  
She practically skips out, leaving us to wallow in our mire.

Nick goes around to set up my meal. For a while I ate on my own, but winced with each movement of my arm, until eventually, Nick starts to spoon feed me.  
“I can do this on my own, old sport.”  
“I know, but your stitches might split if you do. Best to be careful instead.” I glare at him, “I think I already split them yesterday.”  
“Then let’s not make it any worse, okay?”  
With a languid huff, I concede. I’m not really ready for another argument, and I’m sure Nick’s ready to die for this tiny victory at least.

Though I didn’t want to talk, idle banter would be preferable to the harrowing silence we had earlier, so I ask him, “What happened since I’ve been here?”  
Nick shoves a spoonful inside me, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”  
“I am asking though.”  
“I’m not sure that you’re sure about what you’re asking.”  
“Humor me anyway, old sport.”  
Nick sighs, breath thick with sadness. “I won’t lie to you Gatsby-”  
A playful “Hmph!” escapes me. Nick shakes his head, “Don’t play.” He continues, “It’s bad, Gatsby. People are spinning all sorts of lies about you. Says you’ve been fooling around with that woman Daisy ran over, and no one wants to come to your defense.”  
I gave a knowing sigh. Of course, no one defended me. Why would they? They only came for the parties. The gleam and glamour that came with having attended any one of my lavish revelries. Not one of them stayed to know me. Not that I tried to, anyway. I look back to Nick, “That it?”  
He nods.  
“It’s not too bad, then.”  
Nick gives an unconvinced smile, “Glad you think so.”

This was the routine for the rest of our stay at the hospital. Nick would feed me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then he’d go away to get his own food, until he decided it was just better to order for the rest of the day at breakfast and store them in the fridge that the room had. Later, when I got better at hiding my wincing, he let me eat on my own, and he’d eat with me. My father would visit as often as he could in the afternoons, bringing Nick and I any book we had requested the day before, then we’d either spend the rest of the day talking, listening to the radio, or reading. Though, often I found myself sleeping most of the time, and if I wasn’t, I was either pretending to be asleep, or just blankly staring into nothing. Nick would at least try to get me out of my trances. At night, Nick would always fall asleep first, sometimes on the couch, sometimes on the stool next to the bed, whilst I would just have my eyes drawn to a close, waiting for the drowsiness to come and take me away from this nightmarish room, for if I had left my eyes open, they would never close again, and I’d be left to watch it. The green light that I’ve grown to despise and loathe, yet never have the strength to look away from or walk away, until Nick inevitably wakes up, and pulls me back to bed.

Time passed agonizingly slow, until the doctor finally met with me and gave me his prognosis. And after a superfluous amount of time, I was discharged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to tear me down in the comments 😉😬 (but seriously tho, be gentle 🙏)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to split this chapter into two, because it was starting to run off a little too long. Hopefully, though this doesn't feel too incomplete, so here.
> 
> I'll post the other half next week, unless I get enough complaints with it.
> 
> EDIT: I discovered a cleaner way to do the silence part of Gatsby's rant, so I applied it 😛
> 
> EDIT 2: DUE TO STORY REASONS, I HAVE RESERVED ALL OF GATSBY'S GAY PANICKING FOR LATER. (in other words, I changed what he was thinking during that part where Nick was remembering how Gatsby ended up in his bed.)
> 
> EDIT 3: Just minor dialogue changes 😛

Leaving the hospital proved to be more complex than I thought. I knew that people were interested to know about what had happened to me, but I didn't think it would be to such the extent that the media would be baring down on the building at slightest provocation of any news that I twitched my finger in the middle of the night, as though a tsunami had suddenly taken a keen interest to drown me, specifically. Thankfully, Nick has managed to keep everything relatively quiet, the only news available to them that I was unconscious in the hospital, without any indication of waking. Since the front was flooded with the desperate cries and blinding flashes of those rabid reporters, the staff had to sneak us out through the back. We rode in Nick's Dodge, which was parked on its lonesome, the rose sheen it once had completely blanketed by the many days of ashen gray dust, looking very much like the ancient artifact that it was. Nick helped me get on the passenger's seat, which groaned at the sudden weight that invaded its too-long empty cushion. Nick sat with a resounding ricket from the seat's springs. It took a moment to get the car to rile up again, after being left alone for so long, but it did move, despite coughing up some rather dark smog from its pipe, and some alarming pops here and there. It's a good thing the journalist have become to feral in their endeavor of entering through the front, that no one had heard our infernal racket.

Nick avoided any crowded areas and traffic, taking the fastest route possible back to West Egg. Nick kept his eyes on the road, while I slumped deeper into my seat, looking outside while the world blurs around me. We stayed like this for a while. Silent. Blessed, harrowing silence. Nick squirmed in his seat however, so he started, "Your father's probably eager to take care of you again." He would be, yes, though I don't dare voice it out. "It'd be like the old days for him. You, his sick, little boy! Spending all your time lying on your bed, while he tells you all sorts of stories. Nursing you back up to health again."  
A corner of my lips betrays me, perking up at the thought, "That was more my mother's job than his, really."  
Nick looks at me momentarily, his face lighting up like someone had just splashed water all over him, then quickly goes back to the road, responding with a quick "Oh?"

My eyebrows raised in response, "Mhm. She was always looking out for me. Made sure I was always okay. Kept my belly full. Looking back, I think my mom lied a lot to me about them already eating. I think there were days when we didn't have enough food for all of us, so they just gave what little food we had to me.” Nick took another glance, his interest growing with each word that escapes my lips. Then, a memory comes up, releasing a deep sigh from within me, "Then one day, I got sick. Real bad. Can't remember what it was, but just the feeling of retching my guts out. We didn't have enough money for a doctor, so I was like that for weeks. Mom and Pops took on all sorts of jobs, working all day and night, looking like corpses had shambled out of their grave. Then one day, mom started staying at home longer. I think I infected her at some point. But she never stopped working. Even coughing up a storm, she still went around houses, doing other people's laundry, sewing other kids’ clothes." I played with the pink handkerchief I had in my gray shirt pocket. turning it over, and over, and over, as if it had some hidden secret that I was trying to divine, “Then on, I swore I'd be better to them. No more wasting time, playing with the other kids; no more dilly-dallying! I'd work hard, learn about anything, and get a craft as soon as I can. And then I'd earn enough of a living, so my parents didn't have to break their backs anymore." I threw my handkerchief to the back of the car, something about its texture stinging my fingers. Nick was silent, unsure of how to respond to my... Dammit! I had slipped. I ran my mouth again, and let him see me for the phony bastard that I was. This is the third time my mask has slipped. First, in the apartment, then the hospital, and now this. I can't keep slipping up or I might... No. Never. I refuse to let that happen.

Nick let the silence fill his car in the midst of my internal breakdown. He still had his eyes looking on the road, but something about them seemed as though he was looking through it, not on it. Nick stops the car on account of a red light, the afternoon air growing cold with the approaching night. Then, with a resounding sigh, Nick turns around and grabs the handkerchief I threw in the back, and says, “Guess you succeeded then, huh?” A tiny smile blossoming on the corners of his lips.

Oh...

I suppose I did then, huh?

* * *

When we came into the driveway, my father was sitting on the porch’s stairway, a brown blanket wrapped around him by Edgar, who has surprisingly, screwed up an even more bored and annoyed face than I ever thought possible to achieve, the corners of his mouth and jowls reaching an ever-lower dip that was inhumanly possible, they looked as if they'd fall off his face anytime soon. But the man delivers, as always.

My old man calls out, "Jimmy! So glad they fin'lly let ye out!" He comes running down the steps, sprightlier than a newborn pup that's found his first chew toy. He hugs me tight, which made me wince a little, then he loosens it to keep from ripping my stitches. Edgar takes the bag from Nick, who is then caught in my father’s hug, “Thanks for taking care of my boy, Nicky.” A several whacks were landed on his back.  
“It’s no trouble at all, Mr. Gatz.” Nick heaved out  
“Please, call me Henry!” He grabs us by our shoulders, and pushes us inside. “C’mon, I made us lunch!”  
“It’s a little too late for lunch now, isn’t it?” I tell my father.  
“Then think of it as early dinner then!” Was my father’s jaunty response, “C’mon! I’m gon’ fin’lly eat with my son in his big fancy house, with actual silver!”  
“Silver?” I turn to Nick.  
Nick gives a nervous laugh, “Some of your servants panicked when you got shot. They were convinced that you wouldn’t wake up, so they packed their bags, stole whatever valuables they could carry without anyone noticing, and took off.”  
Hm. No loyalty even from my own. Perhaps I should have been more selective with who I fired then.  
“I replaced most of them, but I couldn’t find any gold cutlery. Where’d you even get those?”  
“You had gold for cutlery?!” My father ejaculated, an incredulous look on his face.  
“I did.” Was my shy response. I never was shy about my wealth, but something about the way my father stared at me made me feel caught out.  
“What did those feel like?” He asks in earnest.  
My eyebrows raise in confusion, “Feel like?” I thought for a moment. I never really took notice of it. Did it feel different? I remember having a sense of satisfaction when I first acquired my full set of gold cutlery, but using them? “Like regular cutlery, I suppose?”  
His response was an unquestionable, “Huh.” Now whether that was good or not, I would never find out, and it must have shown, because Nick was laughing right at my face.

My old man led us into the dining room, practically bouncing on his heels. He made us sit in our chairs, and turned to head for the kitchen to grab our meals. He stops dead in his tracks however, when he bumps into a servant with the food tray, slightly disappointed that they brought the food for us, but nothing to damper his general giddiness. He resigns himself to a chair, sitting perpendicular to us. The servants place our meals in front of us, all still covered.  
“Guess what we’re havin’?” My father asked, before Nick or I could lift the domes off our plates. My eyes squint bemusedly, then glance at Nick, wondering if he knew what our mystery dish was, though it seemed that he was just as in the dark as I was.  
Unfortunately, we weren’t able to supply him with an answer in time, and his excitement got the better of him, “Hot Dish!” The servants took off the domes, releasing the blessed smell of baked potatoes and melted cheese wafting through the air. “Remembered how your mama would always bake this for your birthdays. Thought since you’s getting discharged, I’d make you this myself.” He beamed his proud smile.

I looked at him astonished, completely enthralled by its sweet and savory scents that captivated every sense in my mind, “Since when do you cook?”  
“Well, I had to learn eventually, didn’t I? What was I supposed do when your mother passed? Eat the chicken raw?” He chortled heartily.  
“So you cooked this? All on your own?” I teased.  
He scratched his eyebrows then, “Well, I had a little help…”  
“So the cook made it?”  
“No! I rolled and fried the tots myself.”  
Nick took the first bite, and the moan that escapes his mouth seemed more appropriate behind closed doors than on a dinner table. He took another bite, this time savoring the taste for much longer, licking any flavor that might have been left on his lips, relishing every swallow with the smacking of his lips.  
My father chuckled, “Good, eh? Go on! Dig in.”  
At first, we were silent, not for lack of wanting to talk, but because of how good the food tasted. I don’t know if it was because I haven’t had any real food since living in that damned hospital, or because my father really did learn how to cook for once. Either way, I didn’t care. This really was as good as Nick made it look. My enjoyment of it would have to wait however, as my father had just re-entered my life, and since I haven’t really kept in touch with him, he comes bearing a lifetime’s worth of questions for me. Thankfully, he starts with a simple one.

“How’ve you been, Jimmy?” He smiled warmly. Now, the question itself truly was simple. But how one answers this would determine the mood of the rest of the conversation. Too blunt an answer, and I would come off as cold, something that I could never be to my family. Too much, and I would be seen as needy or vain, qualities I refuse to be associated with. Too specific now, and I’d risk alienating him. “Well, I’ve definitely had better days. Today though,” I pause briefly to gauge their reaction to my next words. Nick presents a warm smiling face, but his hands had been frozen still, and his eyebrows raised just a bit too much to simply be an expression of calm joy. My father was even worse, shoulders closing in on himself, and his lips indecisive on whether to form a smile or a frown, instead flickering between a being bent or straight. No doubt to it, they’d annoy me for the rest of the day if I say anything remotely worrisome, so a different answer would have to suffice, “Today has been wonderful.” And they’ll just have to take my word for it.  
My father slowly nods, the corners of his mouth finally deciding to stretch upwards, “Good. That’s good.”  
“So, tell me, what you’s been doing this whole time? What’s your business like?”  
I chuckle. Of course, he’d ask that. Didn’t think he’d ask it this soon though. Still, it’s a tune I’ve played over and over already, told so many times before, it might as well be truth. “I used to be in the business of drugs, then oil.” Nick coughs at the obvious lie, giving me a disapproving side-eye.  
“Oh? You ever worked with Mr. Rockefeller?”  
Another chuckle, “No, ‘fraid not. Haven’t had the time.”  
“What about you, father? How’ve you been back at Minnesota? The servants treating you well?”  
“Oh no, your mom didn’t like havin’ ta live in a big ‘ol mansion. She’d made me sell the place for something smaller. Kept a few o’ the maids ta help us ‘round a bit but, we’s mostly did the work ourselves.”  
“What’d you do most days now, though?”  
“Well, one o’ the maid’s kid taught me to use a camera. Thought it looked fun. Took a whole bunch’a pictures o’ your mama. Even got hired by the neighbors to take some o’ their pictures too! Should’a brought some with me. Think they look good.”  
I beam proudly, “That’s amazing!” He shy laugh sneaks out of him. “I’m proud of you, father.”  
A large smile grows on him, eyes crinkling with fondness. “Thank you, James.”  
I give him larger smile.

After a brief reprise to relish our little moment of openness, my father laughs  
I raise my brow at him, and chuckled, “What’s so funny?”  
“Oh, nothing. Just tink it’s funny you callin’ me father.” then laughs,  
I stare dumbfound. Nick snickers at my sudden loss for words.  
“Big ‘ol Mr. Gatsby’s gotten too fancy to call his father, pops, now, eh?” He chortles out.  
I compose myself, brushing back my hair that hasn’t actually fallen out of place, “Now, it’s not like that. I just think men of our standing are above such language.”  
“What language?” He smiled, though confusion set in his eyes.  
“Well, I just think that being what we are now, it would be better for us to distance ourselves from our old way of speaking.” I smile back nonchalantly.  
“What’s wrong with how’s we spoke, back then?” There was fire behind his words.  
This won’t do. I’m not going to fight my father over something this trivial. “It doesn’t matter. You really want me to call you pops? Fine. It doesn’t matter, pops.” I respond harder than intended.

We stared down each other for what felt like an eternity. Just me, and my old man, with everything else in the world dissolving away into a mix of greens and golds, fists clenched tight ready to go.  
Eventually, however, he breaks first. “Fine. You win. Not like your poor old pops knows anythin’ ‘bout this whole uptown swank.”  
My fist opens. Fuck. “Now, hold on, that’s not what I meant-”  
“You say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. I’ll believe you, like I always fucking do. Just wished you’d remembered that for once.” He quickly spat as he sat down.

The rest of dinner was relatively quiet. Only Nick, who I had forgotten was sitting next to me at the time, was trying to make small conversations with me or my father, but never both. We wouldn’t speak for the rest of the night. My father finished first, he picked up his plate, ignoring the servants who tried to take it away from the small man, and went to the kitchen to wash it himself. Nick finished next, who lingered a bit, trying to find any words that might help, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Eventually, though, I put him out of his misery.  
“We used to fight like this too, you know?” I shake my head. “It’s nothing new.”  
Nick is still skeptical, however. “We’re fine, old sport, really. In fact, it’s good to know that things haven’t really changed between us. We’re still the same old stubborn asses we were.” I laughed, beating down the resentment inside me.  
“Just couldn’t put us down, no matter what.”  
Nick nods unassuredly, “You could apologize? I’m sure he’d understand.”  
I shake my head, “Listen, old sport. I know you’re trying to help, and I do appreciate that. I do. But you don’t know my father, and you really don’t know me either.”  
Nick is taken a back, “I’m just trying to be a good friend, Gatsby.”  
“And you are, but…” A deep sigh fills the space between us, “This doesn’t involve you anymore. Leave it be, and go home, old sport.”  
Nick wanted to say more, but he resigns himself. At least he knows that I am a stubborn ass. And I always will be, I suppose.

* * *

That night, all of the curtains in my room had been drawn closed, keeping the room pitch black. The estate has gone dead silent, with only my measured breaths failing to fill my room. The chilling night air numbing every sensation off the fibers of my skin. Any hint of a universe existing beyond the reach of my senses were nonexistent. Whether my eyes were closed or not made no difference. Sleep would not come anytime soon, that much was certain.

Thoughts of this afternoon replayed over and over inside my mind. How could I have fucked up this badly? We were supposed to be celebrating; having a good time; reconnecting!

Making up for all that time I didn’t go back home…

Or write a letter…

Or attend her funeral.

GOD, WHAT THE HELL WAS WRONG WITH ME! How could I have been so negligent! They were my parents! The whole reason I even started on this mess! What the fuck happened?! Where did my plans go to hell?! How am I going to fix this now? Will I even be able to fix this? I’ve broken made so many mistakes already! First Daisy, then Wolfsheim, and now my father! Each decision pilling up to make this joke of a life. That’s it. That’s my life! Just one big FUCKING JOKE FOR THE FUCKING WORLD TO LAUGH AT, AIN’T IT?!

ARE YOU LAUGHING?!

IS THIS FUNNY ENOUGH FOR YOU?!

WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCKING END IT ALREADY?!

JUST END IT!

END IT!!!

END!!!!! IT!!!!!

…

Just fucking end it already…

* * *

At some point, I found myself meandering around the estate, trying to find something to keep my mind off things. Eventually, I end up in the kitchen. I tried to look for something to eat, but there were no leftovers. Tried to cook, but I quickly realized that chopping onions in the dark not only worsens the sweating in my eyes, but also ends with me receiving several cuts on my hand. Good thing I got the blunt knife. After several minutes of silent swearing, jumping, shin smacking, slipping on wet mop (someone’s getting fired), and destroying my favorite yellow shirt to bandage my cuts, I ended up drinking for the first time instead. People seem to like the stuff, if business is anything go by, and I’ve heard it helps to forget things, so why not? Can’t get worse than this can it?

* * *

Whose bed am I on?

…

And whose clothes am I wearing?

…

And why the fuck does my head hurt?!

Gentle rays of morning light had stabbed my eyes red, and the sweet smell of coffee and breakfast scorched the hairs out of my nostrils. Why does it hurt so bad?! I got out of bed, and slipped on the covers which I had dragged over my legs, slamming face first on a chair, and landing flat on the floor with an ear-ripping bang. Perhaps legs were a mistake.

“GATSBY?!” Loud footsteps came running up the apparent stairs, each step making me regret living. I try to focus my eyes, making sense of existence. The world was spinning before me, dancing around as if they were celebrating my ditz.  
“Gatsby?!” The voice calls again, slamming the door wide open.  
“Nick?” I blinked disbelievingly, “Where am I?” My throat rasped out. It hurt to speak, every word burning it dry.  
“You’re in my house. Do you remember anything from last night?”  
I clutched my head, trying to rattle my brain for any memories. Ugh, it hurts to think. I shake my head, silently mumbling, “No.”  
Nick sighs, “C’mon. I’ll tell you over breakfast.” He helped me to my feet, and half-drags, half-carries me down to his dining room.

Nick had made breakfast for me, it seemed. Scrambled eggs with toast, and coffee. Opposite me was an empty plate, and a half-empty mug of coffee that had spilt over some. Nick picked up the fallen cutlery on the floor, and went to get a rug to wipe up his coffee. Between us was bowls of sugar, honey, butter, more toast, and a bottle of milk. And finally, as a center piece, a small vase of pink roses. Not in bloom, however, but beautiful all the same.

“Here, eat up. There’s some sugar and milk here in case your coffee’s too strong.” Nick sat down, picking up his mug.  
“Thank you, Nick.” Nick perks up. I took hold of my coffee, letting the warmth travel my arms, sipped first, then drank full.  
“That’s a first.” He smiled as he drank from his coffee.  
Confusion set in me. I’m not in the right mindset for riddles now, “What is?” I coughed out.  
“You called me by my name.” He took a piece of toast and bit into it. “Don’t think you’ve ever done that before.”  
A thoughtful “Huh?” hummed out of me, then I proceeded to wolf down the rest of my breakfast. Didn’t realize I hadn’t.  
“So, what happened to me exactly?” I asked in-between bites of eggs and toast.  
Nick leans back into his chair. His lips dancing around trying to remember the events that lead me here to his bed. I sincerely hope I didn’t vomit my issues back at Nick again. As fine a gentleman as he is, the last thing I need is for someone to see me in such a weak state. Especially him. Nothing escaped those perceptive eyes of his. Always observing, as though if you let him stare for long enough, he’d have seen your very soul, and understood you for who you truly were. I would never live it down. I can't.

Nick’s smooth voice pulls me out of my floundering brain. “Well, you broke into my house, singing-” He winced at the word, almost choking on it. I don’t blame him. I hold no fantasies of me sounding like lark. More like a dying cat if I’m to be generous. “A Girl’s Like A Melody, I think?”  
I chuckle nervously. He continues.  
“You were practically naked, no pants in sight, and looking like you’d run through several rose bushes. I tried to get you back home, but you had locked yourself out, and my copy of the keys were still with your father.”  
I buried myself deeper into my breakfast. This is my grave now. My oily, fluffy grave of essential meals.  
“So, I took you back to my place, and you passed out on my bed. I had to change you out of your clothes.” He finishes his coffee. “It wasn’t easy. We’re not exactly the same fit of clothes.”  
“I’m not fat.” I grumbled  
Nick backtracks, “I didn’t say you were. I meant to say that your muscles are bigger than mine.” He paused briefly, then quickly added. “and your short-”  
“I’m not short!” I burst from my delicious grave.  
“Shorter than me!” he retorts

…

Laughter burst from us both, filling the room with much needed music, after last night’s ineffable void. He was right however. His clothes were ill-fitting on me. The red shirt was tight around my biceps, but sagged on my shoulders and hips, and I kept stepping over the white pants. Nick picked up our plates, and went to wipe the table, but I insisted on helping him clean up. He refused, on account that I was his guest, but being the stubborn man that I was, I snatched the rag from him, and told him to wash the dishes instead. He laughed away, shaking his head as I cleaned the table, and even swept around his house after. I rearranged his rose vase, surprised that it had no thorns on it. Nick must have cut them off. I threw out its old water, and gave them new ones. Unfortunately, I broke off one the rose buds and had to throw that one out instead. Hopefully, Nick wouldn’t notice.

Later, someone was knocking on his door. Nick went to answer it. Then a familiar frantic voice came shuffling in. No mistaking it, my father came for a visit, tired and trembling it sounded. He was looking for me, most likely. Nick sits him down and trying to placate him first. Knowing my father though, he’ll not be cowed so easily.

I stepped into the living room, my father’s eyes widening as though he had just seen a ghost.  
Nick turned to me, “See, Mr. Gatz, your son’s fine. He just stumbled here this morning is all.”  
“Oh, I see.” He nodded; eyes relaxing. “I thought that you’s…” He stopped short of whatever he was going to say, then continued to stumble around, looking for the right words to say to make things right, but unable to finish any of them.  
I held his shoulder, “Hey, I was being an ass. It ain’t your fault, pops.”  
He looks at me with regret, “No. It’s my fault too. Didn’t ‘ave to go, and be all prissy ‘bout not getting called that no more.” 

We stood there awkwardly next to each other, before deciding to hug. He then adds, “I, um, made you breakfast, but, um…”  
“Yeah, no, I already ate with Nick here.”  
“Oh, okay.” He nods.  
Again, we stood around awkwardly in Nick’s living room. Unsure of what to do next. Outside of working the fields, my father and I never really bonded over anything else really. And I can’t exactly bring him along to my line of work now. 

Nick, thankfully, had an idea, “So, Mr. Gatz, since you’re still going to stay with your son for a few more days, how about we show you around New York?”   
“Yes, that is a great idea, old sport!” I immediately jumped on board, “We could take my car! Drive around town. See the great sights the city has to offer.”  
Before I could go any further, Nick coughed and took me aside. He lowered his head, carefully looking back at my father and offering him a smile as he does, before whispering, “Your car hasn’t actually been repaired yet.”  
“I thought you had it fixed?” I wondered aloud. A bit too much that Nick had to look back at my father again.  
“I haven’t.” He timidly answered.  
Well. That’s unfortunate. We turn back to my father, “Uh, change of plans. We’ll take Nick’s car instead.”  
The old man looked at me funny, “Whaz’s wrong with yours?”   
“It’s not really up to standards right now, pops. Nick’s car we’ll do just fine either way.”  
He nods; however, he was grimacing and humming rather uncomfortably, “Nick are you sure your car’s alright? Because I ran by it when I came here, and it smelled like shit.”  
Nick hissed in acknowledgement, before quietly whispering to me, “Right, you puked all over my car on the way here.”  
I gnashed my teeth in embarrassment. Nick turns to my old man, a large pained smile plastered all over his face, “You know what? How about we put a pin on that instead, hm? I should make sure that the car’s up to snuff first, then maybe tomorrow, we can paint the town red! How’s that sound?” He nervously laughs out.

My father looks unconvinced by our huge grins. He looks almost suspicious, like he’s waiting for the proverbial bucket to fall on his head. In the end, he just nods and I immediately drag my father out of Nick’s house, and return home to the estate without much further argument. For the rest of the day, I would be planning out what we’d do for our semi-impromptu outing, keeping pops as in the dark about it as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the fluff came earlier than expected, but you know what?! The boys deserve it, 'kay!
> 
> No worries, though! For those of you who enjoy to see our sweet golden boy suffering, there will be more! I refuse to end the joke that is your current life, Gatsby, in only two chapters! No! I'm going to stretch it out as far as I need it to be, till my sadism is satisfied! Muahahahahahaha! 😈😈😈
> 
> Anyways, feel free to tear me down in the comments section! 😄🙏😱


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So bad news, I might have to take a short brake after this one, because school stuff. 😔
> 
> Good news, I think I've mostly finalized the major beats of the story. Things might still wind a little bit, but I think I know how to get to the ending now. 😛
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter! 😄

I called Nick up early the next day, and invited him over for breakfast. We then left the estate soon after. The day was clear, and not a cloud in sight! The morning sunshine that bounced around the ruby gleam of Nick’s freshly cleaned Dodge, beckoned me to fulfill the entire day’s plans. Yes, this promised to be a good day for us. We all got on the car. Nick was going to drive, but I insisted instead, reasoning that I had our plans engraved on to my memory.  
“So where are we going?” Father asked.  
“Manhattan! We’re getting you all decked out on the latest fashions that New York has to offer!”  
“What’s wrong with my usual clothes?”  
“Oh, nothing’s wrong with them. I just want to treat you is all! Hope you don’t mind?”  
My father nods, “No, that’s completely fine. Could use a new pair o’ shoes to be honest.”  
“Oh, and Nick, I hope you don’t mind, but I elected to invite a friend of ours to help us for this endeavor. No offense, old sport, but you’re not exactly a prime candidate on New York’s finest.”  
Nick shook his head, “No, no. I understand. I’m not really into the glamour that you like to wear.” He smiled, then added, “Um… just one thing. Who’s coming with us?”

* * *

“When I heard that you were finally out of that hospital and galivanting around the city for some grand fun, how could I say no?” Jordan slied, as she strutted across the room. The woman was always looking for something to do, though you’d think for someone as affluent as her, she’d be too busy for a sudden invitation to an entire day’s outing. Yet here she is.  
“Things have been an absolute bore since your palace went silent. None of the other parties were ever as grand.”  
“I would imagine so. Nothing’s quite as fun as excess.” I smiled at her. “And what am I, if not the poster boy for excess?”

We’ve been picking out clothes for my father to wear out for today, and the rest of his stay in West Egg. We’ve already picked out five sets of clothes for him. Father himself, though, mostly stayed put with Nick, who apparently owned an alcohol flask now, and was drinking it, shrinking into himself with every gulp he took. Thankfully though, my father had managed to coax him out of it before he got too buzzed.

“Oh, this one looks beautiful!” Jordan picks out a golden floral suit with black trimmings, the light shimmering all over it.  
“Yes, but I think it’s a bit much for a stroll around the city.”  
Jordan gave me an incredulous look, “Poster boy?”  
I smile and chuckle at that, “Guess even I have my limits then.” I pick out a simpler emerald suit with tiny gold diamonds speckled sparsely all over, and a gold tie to match.  
“Well, let’s take it anyhow! He could use it for one of your parties.”  
I stare at her deadpan.  
“You are still going to throw your parties, right?”  
I take the suit from Ms. Baker, “ ‘fraid New York’s most eligible bachelor is all-partied out.”  
Jordan all but gasps, “Surely not?! I mean I know that you threw them for Daisy, but what about the rest of us? Where are we supposed to have a good time now?”  
“I’m sure there are other men of means that can provide you that.” I pass the suits over to one of the salesclerks, then I return to Jordan, “What about Madame Walters’ parties down at Harlem? Heard she throws the finest galas this part of New York.”  
“Yes, but she doesn’t throw it as often as you! Besides…” She paused briefly, blowing her smoke in my direction, making me cough lightly at the intrusive smell. “People like us aren’t exactly welcome in those parts, not that I blame them. We threw them there in the first place.”

We headed back to the other two, and had father try out the suits we picked out for him. The tailors fussed about him, measuring, and making adjustments to the suits.

“I don’t know ‘bout this, son. They’re all so…” He waves at his reflection, trying to find the word that would best describe this.”  
“Dashing?” Jordan supplies.  
“Exquisite?” A tailor offers.  
“Beautiful?” Another one says.  
My father sighs, “Rich.”  
“Well money isn’t a problem, pops. I can pay for anything in this store. Hell, I can even buy it if I wanted.”  
“That ain’t the problem, Jimmy.” He sighed, “I mean, look at me! Do I look like I fit these clothes?”  
“That’s why we have tailors, father. We’re having them adjusted so they’d fit you properly.”  
He grumbled, “I don’t know, Jim. Maybe I should just stick to my own clothes.”  
“Nonsense! Just ask Nick here. He’ll vouch for you, won’t you, old sport?” I patted my old man on his shoulders.  
Nick offers a discreet smile, “If I’m being honest, Gatsby, I think you should hear your old man out.”  
My brows furrow.  
Nick continues, “I mean, it is his clothes. I think It’d be better if you let him pick for himself. Besides, money isn’t an issue for you, so you can still get the ones you picked out for him, and the ones he picked.”  
Hm. Odd. People usually like these sorts of things. Why wouldn’t they? What could be better than having the best things in life? Still, Nick is a trustworthy man, if these last days were anything to go by. If he says such, then I’m sure it’s all in good faith.

“Alright,” I nod, “Alright, go ahead and pick out whatever you want, pops. Then we’ll have them fitted after.”  
We followed him around the store, letting him take his time to pick out something he liked. Unfortunately, this left Jordan without much entertainment, so she decided to strike up conversation with our dear old sport, who started drinking again.  
“How’ve you been this past week, Nick?”  
“Good.” He replied tersely.  
“I haven’t seen you in a while.” She replied coolly.  
“I’ve been busy, in case it flew by you.” He retorted.

Odd. Did something happen while I was unconscious? The tension between them was practically throwing fists at anyone within range.

“Well, I’ve been busy too. Winning. On and off the golf field.” She blew another smoke.  
“I’m sure you have.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She spoke, a slight edge to her tone.  
“What do you think it means?” He retorted, meeting her dagger.  
They were both smiling, though murder was playing out in their eyes. They kept off eye contact, as though if they so much as glanced at each other, whatever was playing out in their eyes would become reality.

Perhaps inviting Jordan was a bad idea. I had thought them together, but clearly something happened during that missing lapse of time that I was out cold.

Eventually, Nick decided to face her, “Listen, Jordan, I did plan on meeting with you at some point. I’ve just been too busy, honest.”  
Jordan glances her eyes at him, but refuses to turn her head just yet.  
“But after some thinking, I’ve come to the realization that we aren’t really a match for each other.”  
Jordan turns, surprise tinting her eyes for a split second before speaking, “Oh, I already knew that. I was just wondering when you’d do it.” She blows her smoke, “It’s alright though Nick. I’m already engaged to someone else anyway.”  
Nick looks nonplussed by this revelation, “Well, good for you then. Hope he’s nice.”  
Jordan said nothing.

My father eventually came back with a brown suit, a simple white shirt, and red tie. We had him suited up, then adjusted immediately. Afterwards we headed for our main destination, the Metropolitan Museum of Arts.

* * *

This trip was definitely a mistake. Father was all but tired from walking around the museum this entire afternoon, not really interested in the arts or the like, having instead been coaxed by Jordan into a sort of game to see how many people they can trick and/or offend before getting kicked out. Nick, the only person who was actually interested in any of this, had wandered off on his own, leaving me to deal with their combined chaos.

Right now, Jordan had inserted herself into a discussion with an increasingly growing crowd, telling all sorts tall tales of how the artist had conceived the painting in a night of heated passion with several lovers, who were both men and women, how some of the sculptures were actually the cemented corpses of the serial killing artist’s victims, and how some of the exhibits are actually fakes, with the real ones having been destroyed or taken by the secret service, as they held some arcane secret to some great treasure or advanced technology or destructive weapon. My father, meanwhile, snuck around the crowd, switching portraits and priceless artifacts around, while they were enamored by Jordan’s golden voice.

Right. I have to find Nick, before security throws them out by their pants. I leave them to their machinations (God help them), and dash through the museum as much as gentleman could. For a tall man, Nick could disappear so easily into the background. Eventually, I do find him in a secluded room with pristine white walls, tall windows letting in the morning light, making the room shine. I wish I could say the same about the paintings he was looking at though. They remained a rather splotchy mess to me.

I stand beside him, and he greets me, “It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?”  
I tilt my head, realizing that they’re actually a still life painting of flowers, “What is it?”  
“They’re oleanders.” Nick replies, as I nod back, “You know who painted them?”  
“I will admit, the arts were never in my interests.”  
Nick laughs at my earnesty.  
“I just thought that it was high time for me to enjoy the other parts that high society had to offer.” I smiled, as I began to keenly observe the nuances of the painting before me.  
Nick nods, “Well, it was made by Vincent Van Gogh, one of Europe’s most celebrated artists.” Nick’s expression dours, “After his death at least.”  
I look at him curiously, “Did you know him personally?”  
Nick laughs, louder than usual, “No! He lived in Paris and died in the 90s.”  
I blush from the embarrassment. I really need to educate myself about the arts. Nick laughs harder now, making me blush even more, my face blooming into a rose. Thankfully, no one was there to see my blunder.  
Nick contained his laughter, then explained, “Van Gogh was a starving artist. People ridiculed and mistreated him his entire life. No one except his brother believed in him.” Nick heaved a heavy sigh, “But that wasn’t enough to save him. And on that fateful night, people would find him dying in his room at Auvers, bullet through his stomach.”  
Nick shook his head, “They said it was suicide. Some say murder though.”  
“Which one are you?” I asked as I was mesmerized by how the mired yellows invaded the whites and pinks of the flowers, gradually encroaching upon them, but never conquering. The green of its leaves attempting to hide the flowers beneath it’s vexing grasp, but stubbornly jutting out, the bright reds outlining their form, giving breath to their shrinking visage.  
“The latter.” Nick replied, “It just doesn’t make sense to me. If you wanted to die, aim for the head. Why bother putting yourself in further pain.” Nick’s eyes looked dead in that moment, like his soul had left him, and gone somewhere else to retreat.  
“I think he died protecting his killer. Framed himself, maybe even convinced himself he did it.” He takes his flask and drinks again, his throat bobbing like a boat being thrown about by the sea.  
Protected his killer, huh? I ask Nick for a swig of his flask, and he hands it over tentatively, then comments, “You know, until yesterday, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink.”  
“Never too late to start.”  
I took one gulp, and coughed as it burned my throat dry. “Still not used to the taste, though.”  
We both chuckle mirthlessly. Standing there, side by side. Admiring the works of a dead man that was deemed alive after the fact.

“It occurs to me, that I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for me, Nick.”  
Nick smiles as he takes his flask back. Life seems to return to his face.  
“I promise to make it up to you.”  
Nick frowns, “You don’t have to, Gatsby. I’m your friend.”  
I shake my head, “No, Nick, you’re more than that.” Nick’s eyes grew wide as I held him firmly on his shoulder.  
“I took advantage of your kindness, Nick. I used you to get to Daisy. I revealed to you who I really was, and yet when the glamour had gone, you were the only one who stayed.”  
Nick massaged the back of his head, getting bashful from the praise.  
I grabbed him by his shoulders and made him face me, “Tell you what, old sport, how about we re-celebrate your birthday, hm?”  
“Oh, there’s no need for that!” He chuckled lightly.  
“No, no! It’s the least I can do! You deserve it, after the mess we made of yours.”  
Nick frowns at the memory of that day.  
“Hey,” I pull him out of it, “We will celebrate your birthday. For real this time. And you can invite all of your friends!”  
“There’s not that many, really.” He laughs nervously.  
“Then we’ll have smaller one, however you like it. It’s your party so it will be how you say it.”  
Nick thinks it over for a minute before finally giving a response, “Well, there might be one, but I’ll have to ask him first.”  
So, Nick has made a friend in New York! Good for him.  
“Well, better get an answer soon, I want my father to at least attend it!”  
Nick laughs heartily and nods.

Moments later, Jordan came crashing into the room, “There you are!” We both turn to her in surprise, “We better leave.” She continued.  
“Why what’s wrong?” Nick asked.  
“I’m afraid we’ve been had.” She said hurriedly.  
Nick and I share confused looks, then Jordan drags us by our wrists. Walking beside her was already a chore, being dragged by her while running, is like being chained to a truck at full speed.

* * *

My father was arguing with one of the gallery’s artists. It seemed that my father, had been pretending to be the aforementioned artist, before he actually showed up. The crowd had gathered around them, as it seemed that they were about at each other’s throats. Security has already taken notice.

I promptly break them apart, pulling my father away, and shoving the other man back, “You’ll have to forgive him, Mister, but my father is very senile. He sometimes confuses himself for Woodrow Wilson.”  
My father immediately plays along, proceeding to give a caricature of the ex-president’s backwards views, and penchant for violence.  
“I’m sure you understand.”  
The artist, of course, did not understand. He was about to go on to another rant, when I gave him my card. He took it in hand and immediately went limp.  
“You can keep it! Contact me whenever, and I may just support you on whatever endeavor you intend to do next.”  
The man bowed deeply at us, messing up his hair in the effort, even stumbling a little. We then walked away, just as security arrived. I greeted them with a smile, as my father switched to another caricature of some other politician that he disliked.

* * *

At the car, my father and Jordan were laughing like mad dogs in the backseat. Nick had taken to sit in the front since he didn't really want to sit next to Jordan, again.  
“Jordan, you bearcat! That was the most fun I've had in years.”  
“You're not too bad yourself, grandpa! For someone your age, you've still got some moxie in your tank.”  
“Oh, you should've seen me in my prime! I'd have really given that egg a run for his money!” He proceeded to fist the air, as we all laugh at his antics.  
Once, we've settled down, Nick asks what was next on the agenda.  
“Still up for it after that mess of a trip?” I smile at Nick.  
“Are you kidding?! That was amazing!” My father replied, slapping his knees heartily.  
“Truly, Gatsby, it's been more fun than I've had in the last week!” Jordan added as she fixed her makeup back with her compact.  
“And you know where I've been that whole time. I'm just happy to be out of that hospital.” Nick smiled as he watched the sunset, basking in all its glorious dying light.  
“Well, how about we have dinner first, hm? I have a suite in the heart of Manhattan, that I rent out to party-goers from time-to-time. No one’s there for the moment save for a few of my employs. After that, we can decide on where to go next.” I floored the gas pedal, pushing Nick's old jalopy for all it's worth, speeding through New York's streets, like a decisive streak of vermilion flying off the artist's golden canvas.

* * *

While waiting for dinner, we had all convened in the drawing room. We tuned in on the radio, while Jordan bragged to my father about her golfing skills, even inviting him to one of her games next week. My father sadly declined, since he’ll be going home by then. Nick mostly stayed quiet, occasionally being included by my father, before Jordan could entangle him again in conversation. Unfortunately, my fun would have to be cut short.  
A servant came to whisper to me, “Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Brooks is on the phone.”  
I stood up to call the attention of the rest of my guests, “Excuse me, everyone, but I’m afraid I’ll have to be a bit of rude host this afternoon. Business is calling me.”  
“Well, go on then! Wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.” My father said enthusiastically.  
Nick and Jordan on the other hand, were far less so. They shared the longest glance since this trip, concern passing between the two of them. I assuage them of it, “Please, don’t stop on my account. It’ll only be for a moment.”

I walk away to the study, closing the doors behind me, and answer the phone on my desk,  
“Matt?”  
A man’s voice came through, “Gatsby! You’re finally out. How are you?”  
“Currently engaged at the moment. How’s business?”  
“Not good. People are pulling their products out of our stores. Investors are dropping out. They don’t want to be associated with someone accosted of your crime.”  
My hand melts my face. In all my excitement to spend time with my father, I’ve completely forgotten to deal with this mess. “What about our sales? People still buying?”  
“We've lost a bit, and I suspect will lose more what with us missing some of our wares. Which brings me to our next issue. Our best-selling product is missing a few deliveries.”  
I nod, “I'll bring it up with my partner next time.” Matthew hums in agreement.  
“Alright, give me a list of those who pulled out, and any of the big investors that left.”  
Matthew lists out their names. There are some I can convince to come back. Others would be less receptive. I have him find out the rest of their schedules, and see who would be available the soonest, and set up a meeting with the rest of the board of directors.  
“Keep me posted, Matthew.”  
“Will do, sir.”

I return to my guests. Things have settled down since I left. Before I could rejoin them, a servant comes in and announces that dinner is ready. Jordan and my father go ahead first, while Nick walks up beside me.  
“Is everything alright?” He quietly asks.  
“Oh, just business reports. Nothing unusual.” I nod at him.  
“Isn’t it a little too soon to get involved again with the business?” Nick emphasizes the last word.  
“I do have work in more than one industry, old sport. It’s not just that.” I smile at him.  
“Just making sure you’re not pushing yourself too far. Especially with…” He tilts his head to the dining room.  
“I know, and I want to keep him and my partner as separate as possible.”  
Nick nods, “Well, if it’s something you need to deal with now, I could handle your father for the rest of his stay here.”  
I shook my head at him, smiling, “No. I need to do this. I left my parents alone in Minnesota for years, and now I only have one left. I want to make it up to him. I have to be there.” I check my watch. “I will be there.” I say more to me than Nick.  
Time seemed to stand still for a moment. The last dying golden rays of the sunset bathing the room in all its fading wealth, promising me back those lost years.  
“What’s the hold up in there?” My father’s shout echoes from the dining room.  
“Be right there!”  
All of it is a lie of course. Time stops for no one, and it reminded me that as the sky snapped from gold to black.  
“You will be.” Nick says to me, “No matter what you will be. Your father will always be your father, even if he goes back. That won’t change.”  
I nod absently. Nick lightly pats me on the back, grounding me back to the present.  
“Boys, you still there? Hurry up! You can save your little tête-à-tête for later!” Jordan shouts.  
We laughed lightly. Nick even blushes a little, “We better go before she convinces your father that you’ve run away again.”

* * *

After dinner, we decided to go to the movie theater next, ordering us all front-row seat. When the movie starts, the lights dim, as the orchestra plays a playful tune to the opening reel. The film opens with a cheery but raggedy gentleman that’s looking for work. He gets charmed by a flamboyant conman to work for him and they trick people to pay for their faulty products. The audience laughs at their shenanigans, some successful attempts, but most were a bumbling mess. Eventually, the conman is discovered and runs away with all of their money, leaving the ragged gentleman to be chased by an angry mob. Again, the audience roars with laughter at his misfortune, kicking and cackling until their lungs couldn’t anymore. I glance at my friends, who were all having as grand a time as the rest of the audience. Jordan was thoroughly amused by the antics of the film, my father almost threw the food he brought in, and Nick was laughing so hard, he’s breath was hitching, soft hair bobbing out of place. Nick catches my glance, and coughs, getting bashful over his laugh, making me laugh as well, and then he laughs with me. Our little merriment was cut short though, as a familiar face catches the side of my eye. Edgar? What is he doing here? Edgar walks out of the theater. I follow him moments later, excusing my way as I passed over Nick.

I scan the lobby for where Edgar was, catching him sitting in one of the more secluded sofas reading a book. I sat on the sofa behind his, “Care to tell me why my butler is out here in New York, instead of being in his station where he should be?”  
Edgar sighs from his reading, but still keeps his head in it, “Evening to you as well, sir. The master has left me a message.”  
“Wonderful. I've been meaning to ask him about why he hasn't been delivering to my company.”  
Edgar grunts, “It is precisely about that, sir. Someone has been raiding the businesses. Several trucks are missing, a few warehouses and factories taken over.”  
“It’s not the Commissioner is it?”  
“No, they are still firmly under your control.” Edgar pauses, “It’s the Italians, sir.”  
My eyes immediately scan the room “How?”  
“The master suspects foul play. There may be a canary hiding from within.”  
“Does he have any new employees?”  
“None to speak off.”  
“Change the routes. Keep a few of the trucks closer to the regular ones, but fill them only with men. See if we can catch one of those bastards. Keep tabs on the drivers. Make sure the patrols are less visible.”  
“Less, sir?”  
“Yes, less.” I sigh, “I’ll see if anyone from my end can sing.”  
Edgar grunts then leaves. After a few moments, I went back inside the theater.

I come back to an audience sounding a mix of shock and awe, as the film plays out with the ragged gentleman having stolen back the money that the now fabulously-dressed conman got. They were having a comical duel, or more accurately, the gentleman running around, as the conman attempts to kill him.  
“Everything alright?” Nick asked as I sat down.  
“Yeah, just business.”  
The orchestra rises to a crescendo, as their chase leads them to the rooftops, where the gentleman teeters at the edge of the roof as the people watches on from below.  
“Which one?” Nick continues.  
“Later, old sport. I’ll tell it later.”  
The now furious conman, threatens to shoot him if he doesn’t give the money back. With nowhere else to go, the gentleman throws the money away, causing the conman to shoot him. The gentleman falls down, and the conman jumps after the money, only to realize that he would fall to his death.  
Nick sighs, “So, it’s that business then.”  
I ignore his remark.

The money falls back to the people, as they cheer and laugh for the ragged gentleman, who was caught by another man, through one of the windows. The gentleman has fainted, but the other man slaps him awake. The gentleman pulls out from his coat a thick stack of cash, where the bullet had hit. The film ends with two hugging, as the gentleman faints again in his arms, and fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I encourage you to speak your minds, dear readers! I always try to answer them when I can! 😄
> 
> And if you have any suggestions, please, I am open to all comments and critiques 😘


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I'm ~~sorta~~ back from hiatus! So here! Have an extra long chapter! 😛
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> EDIT1: Spotted some errors 😛

The following afternoon, I held a press conference in front of Gatsby Enterprises’ office. The blaring sun beat against us, scorching my skin from under my clothes. People were sweating so much, we looked like we had just run through the sprinklers, which would have been more preferable than this. Though none of that seemed to do much as hundreds of reporters banged against the barricades that were set up, keeping the rabid crowd from getting too close, and siccing themselves on me. They were starving for any syllables that would slip off my tongue. Next to me were my team of lawyers. Nick and my father wanted to come, for moral support as they said, but I politely declined, reassuring my father that I’ve handled worse before, and reasoning to Nick that he should go back to work or he might lose his job, to which he uncomfortably agreed too.

“Mr. Gatsby!” One of the of reporters shouted from the back, pushing and shoving his way through the writhing mass of people to the front. He harried, “There are rumors spreading that you were in an indecent relationship with a married woman. What have you to say?”  
“No, I was not.” I flatly reply.  
“Then why did your assailant, Mr. George Wilson, attack you?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Was it because you were connected to his late wife, Myrtle Wilson?”  
“No, I do not know who that woman is, and I don’t know who my attacker was either. I have never seen, or heard, about these people my entire life, up until today.”  
“Witnesses claimed that your car was seen speeding away from the scene of the crime. How do you explain that?” Another reporter clamored.  
“A car with the same color as mine was seen speeding away from it. That’s a huge leap to assuming that it was my car that was there.”  
One reporter squeezed his way through the fleshwall, and shouted, “There were also rumors of Mrs. Wilson’s infidelity, and with eyewitnesses claiming that a car similar to yours ran her over, and her husband shooting you, the people are saying that you were her killer.”  
One of my lawyers approached the mic, “Those are nothing but baseless speculations at best.”  
“Hardly!” A voice echoed from somewhere in the back of the crowd. The crowd turned to him as he walked his way to the front, the other reporter’s clearing a path for him. “Mrs. Wilson owned several items that were far beyond what her husband’s job could afford, and no one in her family had such means either. So, someone of vast wealth was giving it to her. Someone like you, Mr. Gatsby?” “There’s many a wealthy man living here in New York, mister…?” “Samuel. Captain Samuel Rowe.” He tipped his chin up, exposing his chiseled face to the world. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last weeks, but for someone who’s doors are open to everyone, you are a tough one to catch.” “What can I say, Capt. Rowe? Letting your would-be murderer waltz right into your home really puts everything into perspective.” I flash my golden smile at him, chuckling with the rest of the crowd. “Unfortunately, you weren’t in commission at the time to put your epiphany to good use.” He nodded, “And the lackey you left in charge was an even better host than you.” I blinked, then grinned, “Hospitality is a trait I value considerably, and what is Mr. Carraway if not that.”

He smiled and nodded then turned to leave, watching him go, as the rest of the crowd began their tumorous uproar again. I turn back to them to tell them that the conference is over. The crowd pushes back against the security, threatening to flood over me, as I disappear into the building

* * *

Inside my office, Matthew was sitting on the sofa, spreading papers and documents all over the coffee table, trying to figure out our next move. Meanwhile, I sat on one of the chairs, turning over the night of the accident. When we ran over that woman in the Valley.

“That could have gone worse.” Matthew huffed, breaking me out of my trance. He was still looking over the papers, so I poured myself a drink. “Oh, no, Gatsby, it’s too early for me to start drinking.” He hastily said when he heard the wine pouring into glass. “It’s not for you, old sport.” I smiled, as I drank it in one gulp. Matthew looked up from his papers, as his eyes practically popped from their sockets, “Since when do you drink?” “Does it matter?” Matthew continued to stare at me like I had just suggested to burn the entire building down. “It helps me relax.” I pour another one, observing how it swirls around my small glass. Matthew gives a single unimpressed laugh, “Maybe you should see a doctor, if that attack made you start drinking.” “It’s not that, old sport.” I said as I continued to swirl my drink, my mind tiptoeing back to that night. How could things have gone so wrong so fast? “Well, whatever it is,” Matthew continued, rifling back to his papers, “Maybe deal with it later? I kinda need you sober for the rest of the day. God knows you’re already crazy sober; I don’t wanna know what a Jay Gatsby hopped up on liquid courage is like.” I chuckled with him, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to jump out of the building any time soon.” Matthew chuckled, “And don’t worry about that captain. We’ll have the commissioner take care of that for us.”

We discussed our plans for the rest of the week. A meeting with the rest of the board later, followed by several separate meetings with product manufacturers for the rest of today and the days to follow.  
“By the way, old sport, do you have any news on our whistler?”  
“I have a few guesses,” Matthew pulls out several documents from the pile, and lists-off several names.

  * Jeremy Smith – GATSBY AUTOMOBILES – WAREHOUSE MANAGER: handles product storage and delivery. Brother was hired as a false criminal; killed in prison.
  * Joe Johnson – NEW YORK P.D. – POLICE DETECTIVE: was investigating bootlegging. Blackmailed into silence.
  * Kelly Osborne – G.E. DRUGSTORES – BOOKKEEPER: handles invoices and receipts. Asks too many questions.



I drank my glass, “Keep tabs on Jeremy, and give Kelly her answers. See if they talk to anyone. Make sure that whoever’s watching is ready to fire anytime.” I pour another drink, “As for our dear old sport, Joe.” I drank again, letting it burn my throat. “I think it’s time we roll out the welcoming committee.”  
Matthew nods, swiftly gathering the papers back into their folders, and smoothly sliding them back into his briefcase. He stands up to leave, but out of worry for me I suppose, he takes the glass out of my hand, and comments, “I think you should lay off on the drinks, Gatsby. I get that what happened was scary, but we are booked for the rest of the day. Prob’bly best not to get too sloshed.”  
“I’ve only had a few drinks. I’ve seen you take more, and still walk straight down the stairs.” I say with mock indignity.  
Matthew chuckles, then leaves shaking his hands, closing the doors behind him. Now left alone with my thoughts, my mind wanders back to ruminating over the events of that night.

It’s funny. The memory seems so distant, yet everything that happened then was still very much alive. I remember how that woman’s body crashed into the windshield; the glass shattering into a million tiny pieces, tearing and scratching skin and cloth. The fear in our eyes as that woman’s blood sprayed all over us; the sound of breaking bones and skidding tracks, sending shivers down my spine. Her body lying on the asphalt, twisted and mangled in all the wrong ways. How completely paralyzed we were, me and Daisy. Daisy’s beautiful, bright eyes lost their shine. Dead and empty. Daisy’s hands were hard and cold like iron, gripping the wheel as if she would die if she let go. Daisy, darling. My poor darling. I shouldn’t have let you drive, darling, I shouldn’t have. I- I ruined you. I destroyed you. It’s my fault. My fault. My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault my fault my fault my fault my fault myfault myfault myfault myfault myfaultmyfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfaultfault f̵̬̭̈́̿͘ͅä̴͎̬̬̳̟́̌u̴̧̻̙̭̚l̴̬̔̐́̕ţ̴̗̼͉̻̀͊f̴̟͔̰͇͍̣̌̑ã̷͙̙̆̚ų̷̤͔̳̮͗̌l̵͇̂̃͆̈́̑ť̷͇͇̙͙̝f̶̘͖̰̜̔̅͒͌͜ȃ̷͓̝͈̪͚̐u̶͖̤̙̟̻̅̏͊̅l̸̹̖͉̃̉͊͆t̵͇̼̰̎͆̆͝ͅf̶̫̞̭̏a̷͎̎̌̏û̶̫̱͚̥͝l̴̢̝̱̮̓̂̄̈͋̀t̴̡̜͉̀f̵̟̜̩̙̞̫̆͋͗̓̿̚ȁ̴͇͇͍̽̉͑̚ŭ̷̻l̶͔̖̙̻̺͛̊̎̈́͆̄t̴̨̒̊̆͘͝f̴͎̠͍̣̙͋̌͜a̶̛͇͉̫̝̗̼̒̍͗̿ủ̸̹̀̃l̶̞̒̽̉̃͝͠t̶͙̪͕͊͠f̵͂̋͜ͅa̸̝̗̅ư̵̛̘̯̰̄͘l̴̛͍̎͌̽̆̆t̴̠͉͇͎̐̍̽f̷͚̽̽̎͠â̸̻̺͖̹̖̫̆ư̴̘͙̻̎͂͌̄̇l̶̠͍̩̰̣̉̎̆͠ṫ̴̲̦̣͌̔f̵̢̺͎̅͂̔̒͌̽ạ̵͚̱̈́̓̃̔͑u̷̘͇̩̠̹͎̐l̶̛̳̹̹̜͎̫͆͆̽͠t̶̖̲͈̓̿̚̕͠ḟ̸̢̲̖̱͋̍a̶̠͚͈̘̋̈́ū̵̪͐̍̓ļ̶̷̷̛̮̹̭̥̬͓̩̖̻̬̹̱̠̝̦̱͈̣̘͉̦̭̙̭̲̦̅̈́̋͐͗͐͊̈́̎̒̓̅̉͝ẗ̴̮͙͇̼̻̖́̉̈́͗͗͝ f̶̼̖̤̟̭̋̈̅͘a̴̡̰̖̖̻̥̫̦̬̝̪͑̊͝ų̸̧̢̥͈̺̝̜͓̙͇̬͕̆͑̇̍̏̈́͋̋̈͘͜͜ḻ̷͕͇̖͍̭͎̲̾̄͗͝ţ̴̧̪̯̞̤͕̲̺̒̇͗͆͌͒͛̆̚͜͝f̶̛̲̤͆̇̿͋̉̂͑͛̊̚ä̷̡͚̮̻̭̗̥͍̝͕͉̟̤́̈́̅̿̈́̈̇͆̆̓̽͘͠ũ̶̢͈͓͎̥͙̟̱̳͙̱͓̿͘̕͜͜͝͠ͅḷ̴̕t̸̮͕̼͔̿̃͋͛̒͘͜͝f̴̥̣̤̙͎̙͙̻̲̍͗͛̄̏̽͛̈́̓͆̿a̵̛̭͚͎̪̯̙̞͍͗̃̔̾̉͒͑̓̋̎̃̒͐̃ͅu̶̞͊͛͊̑̿̇̏̚ḻ̵̡̲̺̠̱̺͉͑͒͛͘t̵̳̬̦̘̯̄͊͌f̴̢̨̢̧̦̫͉̝̥̍̏̚a̵̻̜͍͖͙͒͆̌û̵̘̯̲̹̙̩͈͓̞̃̔͗̈́͑̈́̈̏̄͐̇͝l̶͓͙͉̙͖̱͚͐͂͜t̷̨̡̛͓̻̹̰̩̻̺͙̦͔͗̊̓́̿͋̽͛̈́͠ͅf̴̭̗̫͈̥̼̭̀̓a̷͉̳̖̤̼̔̎ͅŭ̵̜͊̒̐͑͐͐̾̄̌͊͠l̶͚͇̺̹͌̋͒̿t̵̛̫̘̓̏̽̾̆̓͊͌͛͂̉͘f̸̡̡̭̦̰̭̯̤̲̮̊̉͋̿̀̓̾͝ą̵͔̗̥̞͉̠̰̪̣͕̈́̉̈́̎̂̒̄̈́̚͘̕͜͝͝ͅụ̷̠͍͚̩̈́l̵̫̩̞̰̮͎̬̪͑̔͂͊t̵͎̻̲̱̲͉́f̷̭̺̖̤͈̣̻̈́̇̈́̓͝ạ̶̢͈̟̘̭̱͚̮̔̈́̉̂͗̚̕͜ư̵̢̢̛̥̻̙̜̩̠̱͍̩̞͕̂͛͊͑͒͒̀͜͝͝͠ĺ̸̯̱͎̆̀͊̿͒͋͂̈́́̕ţ̵͓̪̤̱̠̟̊̎̈̏̎̉̎̀͗͗̚f̶̢͈̼̬̭̞̰̦͓͓̙͇̜͎͇̯͎̃͂̈́͆̆̑̍͆̅͗̚ͅä̸̢̨̖͍̤̮͎͔̝̖͉͉́̈́̌̒̂͒̌͆̔̊͋̽̽̋̈́̚̕̚͝͝ȗ̷̢̡̹͈̲̟̼̮̖̖̥̀͜͠͠͝ͅĺ̴̡̨̪̹̳͍̮̮̱͎̰͙͑̓̉̚ţ̴̧̛̤̥̙̖̹͚̝͚̦̭̞͈̼̜̝̬̙̈́̆͂̌͌̐̑͝ͅf̴̡̢̧̣̪̙̹̼͓̦̺͓̜͚̽͒̏̀̿̍̒͌̐͘͠a̷̧̨̢̘̯̠̠̞̽̍̑̈́̈́̈͐͌̽̅͊͒̎͠͝u̸͇̺̻͍̤͖̺̝̇̌̇́̾͘̚ļ̵̬͕̠̝̼̠̟̭̻͊͛̓̎̈́̓̍́̋͛̿̅̌̊̈̾̽̐͑͝ͅt̷̡̛̘̹͍̝̺̠̤̩͎͂̂̈́̋̋͠f̸̢̧͚͖̠̹͉͖̹̫̱̌ǎ̷͍̩͈̭͉̝̫̤ͅu̸̢̧̯̠̠̝͍̻̘͍͓̘̬̤̣̹̘̞͌̍͜l̵͔̺̪̗͓̻̠̮̰̼͈̱͉̣̜̤̩͋̓t̴̩͉͖̮͌̀̌̄̇ͅͅf̸̢̢̛͕̗̜͙̹̻̙̞̞̬̦̤̟͓̹͍̺͂͋̽̀̐̒͋̈́͌̃̒̌͆̾̾̕͜a̷̜̣͇̖͓̜͔̰̰͙̙̖̱̎̽͒͐̀̈͗̋͂̒ũ̴̢̜̺̬͖̩̗͎̞͔̐̐̑̔͛̈́̓͛̈̂̾̕̚͝l̵̟̂͌͐̎̂̂̈́̈͑̌͌̾̍͗͒͝t̶̡̼̜̥̬̗̙͈̭̣̬̜̫̺̹̹̦̭̞̋̃̌́̇̔̌̉̃̍̐̉̋͆͋̈́̂̒̚͝f̶͕̺͎͈̜̅ą̴̧̛̭̼̻̩̹̳̫̗̻̝̻̬͎̤͇̭̹̊̋̆̽̊̅͒̏̊͋̉̓̈̆͘͝ͅu̷͇̰̭̼͙͖̤̠̲̱̺̖̹̲̙̼͇̱͈͐̎̔ͅl̷̜̯̩̳̖̫̩̍̍́̎̚t̴̡̨͔͚̼̖̣̹̣͕̗̻̣̠̹̥̰̔͌̉̓̈͊̅̒̑̌̈ͅf̵̡̨̦̘̗̟̯̮̪͎̫̹̤̪̥͙̻̍̚͜ã̷̢̢̯͚̼͚̯͕͙̦͔̫͍̜̗͖̭̹̮́̾͐̊̉͑̂̇̾̃̿̿͆̈̕u̶̢̥̬̭͉͈̻̘̠̖̅͆̀͒͐̅͊̐̾̋͛̈́̋͒̌̚l̸̯͓̹̞͙͙̬̺̰̲̦̱̘̲̔́̃t̷̢̺̜̺͚̻̪̲̹̲͎͇͎̝̦̳͓̦͐̆̒̏̏͋̿͐̿́̑̽͋͘͝ͅf̸̣̯̙͓͚͖̻͌͂̑̌̏͌͒̑̑͑́͋̔̈̌̚͜͝͠ą̴̢͍̘̩̩͍̪̟̟̥̝̠̐̓̈́͂̈́̚͜͝û̸͎͉̣͖̘̦̙̓͘͜ĺ̷͈̱̳̳̹͚̮̞̲̌̇̅̍́̏͂͂̓̅͘̕̕͝ṭ̶̢̢͉̩̬͛͐̓̉͐͌̽̾̈́́̿̔̓̂͋̕͘̚͠–̴̧̢̫̦̥͇̣̲̱̣̥͎̬̼̟͐́͘ͅ

  
  


My hands rush for the bottle and raise it to my lips. Before my tongue could lap on a single drop however, a piercing ringing snatches me from my collapsing mind. Cold sweat ran down my forehead, as my eyes drowsily focused in on the source of the noise. Someone was calling on my phone. After an infinite second, I sat down on my desk and forced my hand to stop its tremors, which I had only noticed just now as I picked up the phone.  
“Gatsby?” Relief washes over me as I hear Nick’s voice answer, “Hey, you okay? You sound tired.”  
I didn’t notice how heavy I was breathing. I pull the phone back quickly as I relax my breathing as best I could, “Yeah, no, I’m fine, old sport. What about you? Did something come up?”  
“Nothing. Just wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing.”  
Oh…  
“ _Are_ you alright?” He continued.  
I shake my head, blinking the unease away, “Are you on break? It’s pretty quiet on your end.”  
Nick answers shakily, “Yeah, everyone’s out right now, but I stayed in.” I nod.  
“Huh. I’d thought the bonds business didn’t have any breaks, but guess I’m wrong.”  
Nick gives a weak laugh.

I waited to hear if Nick was going to say anything more, but the line stayed quiet long enough that I wondered if I he dropped the call. Then he answered, “Listen, Gatsby, I’m just… worried that you might not be ready to work just yet.”  
“I’m fine, old sport. This isn’t my first bullet wound, you know?”  
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

…

“At the hospital, you always woke up startled. And every night, I’d wake up to you leaning out of the window, almost like you wanted to jump out. When we finally got back home, the first night I left you alone after the accident, you got so drunk, you fell off a tree, ripped your clothes in the rose bushes, and ran around naked in the middle of the night!”  
“We don’t know that I fell from that tree.” I quickly countered.  
“I know you didn’t throw your pants up there, either.” He snapped back. “Jesus, Gatsby your clothes reeked of alcohol when you barged into my house!”  
I cringe, “And that’ll be the last time that happens. Trust me, old sport.”  
Nick audibly sighs, “Just, take it easy Gatsby.”  
“Don’t worry, old sport. I’m a grown man! I can handle a little drink.”  
Nick grumbles at my laughter, “Just take it easy on the drinking.”  
“I will.”

Nick says his goodbyes, then hangs up first. After I hang up, my eyes go back to the bottle I was still holding, debating on whether I should drink it or not for an admittedly embarrassing amount of time. On the one hand, drinking does help getting me to think past… her. On the other, I don’t really how many more I can take before I blackout again.  
Eventually, I do cringe at the thought of letting Nick see me in such a miserable state, “Maybe after work…”

* * *

I haven’t had this much trouble with the company since I started. Convincing prospective suppliers to put their products on my shelves, finding other people to risk a stake on my company. Of course, Meyer had been there to help me take off at the time, but he came with the caveat of bootlegging his wine through my legitimate business ventures. Still, how would you start a business, if you’re afraid of a few little risks.

Unfortunately, Mr. Patton’s son was one such man. Throughout our partnership with his parents, he’s been trying to pull out his products from our shelves. Matthew went to have dinner with him tonight, reasoning to me that he hated my guts. Still, since the last suppliers are met with were far more receptible than I anticipated, I decided to pay him a visit, to see if he’s managed to turn him around. After all, Patton Cosmetics was our biggest manufacturer. I have to make sure we land this one, petty vendettas be damned.

The restaurant receptionist asked for my name, and I obliged but quickly told him I’m here only to pay a quick visit to my colleague.

“I’m sorry, Brooks, but as we’ve said before, the company is moving in a different direction now.” I heard Richard Patton say as I approached from behind him, “It’s simply in our best interests if we parted ways now.”  
“Please, Mr. Patton, your father has been with the company ever since its inception, and we’ve both grown immensely from it, and we will continue to grow even more and it would be remiss of us if we simply let the supplier that we’ve shared the longest history with walk away.” Matthew coolly pleaded with him.

Richard was currently slicing into his sirloin steak, and took a bite of it, savoring the taste of it. He plastered on a smile for Matthew, “Believe me, Brooks, the feeling is mutual, but after your boss’s little accident, Patton Cosmetics is no longer confident in his ability to run GE Drugstores.” He pointed. “And judging from the company he keeps,” He glared at Matthew’s earthen skin, “It doesn’t surprise me.”

Matthew scowled at him, mouth agape. Before Matthew could say anything else, however, I came up to his side, patting Matthew’s shoulders as I spoke, “I assure you, that my accident hasn’t affected my capabilities at all. Gatsby Enterprises and all associated businesses and subsidiaries will continue to run operations as smoothly as ever.”  
“Ah,” He said with such deflated ego, “Gatsby. What a surprise. I didn’t realize you were joining us.”  
“Well, if you worked with Gatsby for as long as I, you’d know he never fails to surprise anyone.” Matthew said smilling, though his eyes were clearly driving steak knives into my skull.  
“What better way to say that I’m healthy than going to out for dinner?” I smiled at them.  
“Well I wish, that was the only issue, but you still have those rumors of you and that woman.”  
“Well, I can assure you that the allegation made against me was highly exaggerated. And being taken care of as we speak. Soon any false rumors made about me will be just that. Rumors.”

“Well, either way, Gatsby, it’s out of my hands. The board will be holding it to a vote, and I’m not sure the rest of them would be amenable as me.”  
I hmphed, “Whatever issues they may have with my company, I can top.” I lean in closer, “All I need is for you to get me into a room alone with them for a few minutes, and I can charm my way back into their good graces.” I smile at him, and throw a wink in there as well for good measure.  
“Arrogant as ever, Gatsby.” He sighed, though still keeping his smile. “Listen, Gatsby. I don’t think you understand the whole issue here. The company doesn’t have a problem with you. They just have a problem with your employees.”  
Matthew sank deeper into the cushions.  
“You saw how your company fell when you left **him** in charge.”  
My grin fell as Matthew balled the fabrics of his jacket into his hands, keeping his fists grounded to his knees.  
“You need real men to take charge of your business. People that actually have the capacity to run it in your absen–”  
“With all due respect, **Dick** , I have left the management of Gatsby Enterprises many times over to the care of Mr. Matthew Brooks, without affecting my many businesses’ performances, even improving at times. He has proven himself to be a loyal and efficient partner of my company; irreplaceable in fact. And considering the circumstances that poisoned my name at the time, he did the best he could to keep my company afloat, and as far as I can tell we’re still top billing.”  
I stood up, “Now, unless the board can learn to deal with that fact, then we have nothing further to discuss.”  
I walked away as Matthew quickly followed behind me. Dick stood up quickly, spilling some of his red wine on his golden cushions. He shouted at us, “Don’t be stupid, Gatsby! It’s just one negro, I’m not asking you to fire all of your colored help, just him!”  
“We’re done here, Dicky. Give your parents my regards.” I waved back without turning, not missing a single stride in my steps.

We got into the Rolls-Royce and drove away from the Pattons’ estate, making sure to drive dust and asphalt on to their porch. As we drove, Matthew decided to speak up, “You didn’t have to do that, sir.”  
“Don’t be absurd, old sport, you’ve been with me from the start, and have been running the business more than I have in its lifetime. You have access to many of my personal accounts, both on and off the records, and have had multiple opportunities to sell me out, but have taken none of it. I meant what I said Matthew; you’re irreplaceable.”  
“Still, the company will be hurt by this. Patton Cosmetics filled many of our stores’ shelves, as well as being a leading brand across the state.”  
“In no small part because of us.”  
He sighs, “Yes, of course, but that doesn’t matter at the moment, because our name is being dragged through the mud right now, while Richard is avoiding the splashes.”  
My eyes roll, “Oh, please, the boy’s been trying to get rid of me since day one. His parents practically dotted more over me than him, and his spoiled ego couldn’t handle that. Now that his father’s given him the position of CEO, I can tell you, old sport, this poor excuse of his for the company pulling out is really his decision, not the board’s.”  
“Be that as it may, we still stand to lose Patton Cosmetics.”  
“Which is why, I reached out, to the real Mr. Patton for a private dinner this.”  
Matthew blinked, “You mean Jeffrey? But he’s retired? What’s he supposed to do.”  
“Jeffrey may be retired, but he still has sway over the board. If I can convince him, which I’m sure I can, then the rest of them will fall in line, especially daddy’s boy, Dick, back there.”  
Matthew nods, “Always a step ahead of everyone, Gatsby.”  
“Ten steps, really, old sport, but who’s counting?”  
Matthew chuckles, “Well, it’s too bad you couldn’t get ahead of the press, huh?”  
“What better way to make a comeback than with a scandal, hm?” A grin forms on my lips, as I narrowed my eyes and raised my brow at him.  
And if not, I’m sure we can get the judge to see otherwise. Or the commissioner.”  
I nod, “Always have a fallback.”

* * *

Dining with Jeffrey and Julie Patton was always more intimate than most lunches I’ve been invited to. Where most people would serve entire seven-course meals, chosen specifically for each invited individual, complete with accompanying classical or jazz bands playing for their own little soirees, the Pattons opted to share one large cooked meal, and if they felt like it, a cup of ice cream later. They did have wine though, but they only ever cracked one open for special occasions. From what I understand, they wanted to _keep special events special_ , though it seems like such a waste to have all that money, and not spend it. Still, it’s their money, not mine, so whatever they wish to do with it is their own business.

When we arrived, we were led to the drawing room, before Jeffrey came strutting in with a smile that stretched ear to ear.  
“Gatsby, my boy! How are you?” Jeffrey welcomed me with open arms, patting me hard on the back.  
“Very good, sir!” I greeted back. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought a friend with me.”  
Matthew introduced himself, and earned a wind-knocking pat from Jeffrey.  
“It’s fine. Julie, my wife, had to go to the factory anyway. Struck with inspiration, as she called it.”  
“She’s still working?”  
“Of course! I may have started the company, but it was her products that get it off the ground. And your excellent sales of course.” He chuckled, “Shall we?”

We strode into his dining room. The sweet and peppery aroma of honeyed salmon wafting in the air, making our mouths water.  
“Do you like salmon, Matthew? If Gatsby here had told me about you, I would’ve asked what you’d like for lunch too.”  
“Oh, I’m not a picky eater, Mr. Patton. Anything is fine, really.”  
“No need to be so formal! Please, call me Jeff.”  
Jeffrey began taking bites as soon as the food was served.  
“Do you drink, Matthew?” Jeffrey inquired, “Because I have an absolutely exquisite wine from France, that I’d simply hate to see go to waste. With my old heart, my wife has the entire staff turned against me from drinking and smoking.”  
“Thank you, Jeff, but I’m on the clock. Perhaps some other time.”  
Jeffrey nodded jovially, “Well, then dig in!”

As we dined, Jeffrey, Matthew and I discussed Jeffrey latest adventures in Europe. Much of the landscape, physically, politically, and culturally, has been changed drastically. People spoke of nationalism and such, demanding independence from here and there. News of revolts throughout the various European colonies were becoming increasingly common, something Matthew was incredibly well-informed of. The women of Europe, much like here, walked to and from places of business, earning honest wages. They took to the streets, and gathered in talks of better rights and laws for them, such as voting and divorce. All the while, however, people were becoming increasingly hostile of foreigners. Yet, business still flourished, with the infrastructure and the economy slowly recovering from the Great War.

“Perhaps I should expand to Europe soon,” I exclaimed, “Take advantage of this divisive climate.”  
Jeff guffawed, “Only you would see the charred remains of a house, and see it as an opportunity.”  
“It’s part of my charm!" I lauded, "Why else did you take a chance on my business in the first place?”  
Jeff laughed, “Don’t you have a burning building to get out of first?”  
I chuckled, as Matthew spoke, “Speaking of which, Gatsby here was hoping you could help us with that.”  
Jeff quirked his eyebrows at me, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.  
“Problem is, old sport,” I spoke, “Your son’s threatening to pull out of our stores.”  
Jeffrey sighed, “What do you expect me to do? I’m retired. I just read, play golf most days now.”  
“I know that, but you were its CEO for many _successful_ years. The board will listen to you.”  
Jeffrey lowered his fork, “Gatsby, I-”  
“You don’t have to convince them. All I need is an audience with them, and I’ll do the rest.” I smile at him, giving the sincerest look I can possibly manage.  
Jeffrey knotted his brows and sighed, “No, Gatsby. I’m sorry. I left the company to my son, and I’m not going back on my word, by undermining his authority behind his back. No matter how much of a poor decision that maybe. You know how it is Gatsby. Children need to learn to make their own decisions in order to become proper men and women. How else do you learn?”  
I deflated, “Of course, old sport. Thank you for your time.” I stood to leave, letting my unfinished meal go cold.  
“Gatsby, my boy, wait-”  
“It’s alright, Jeffrey. I understand. Family comes first.” I smile as far as my lips could go, though disappointment was evident.  
Jeffrey sighed, as I told Matthew that we were leaving. Though before we disappeared in the hallway, I turned back and told him, “Perhaps we could have a more proper lunch some other time, old sport. Take you up on that fine glass of French wine you were talking about.”  
Jeff smiled, took a deep breath, and relieved, “Of course, Gatsby. I’m glad you understand.”

* * *

Back at the office, Matthew and I tried to form our next steps, although if I’m honest, it was more like Matthew throwing darts in the dark, while my mouth formed words. The rest of the day seemed to drone on endlessly, while I barely made myself present in any of the meetings, half of the time my mind drifted off to somewhere else. How could I have been so foolish as to push all my luck on Jeffrey, pitting him against his own family. Of course, he’d choose him. They were family, not me. I should have seen that. But here I am instead. Drifting in the wind. Again.

I tried to focus back on my work, but try as I did, I just couldn’t help but feel so stupid about Jeffrey. I did it so much that I hadn’t even noticed that the office finally closed. I decided to pay a visit to one of the speakeasies Meyer and I owned. Music roared from below, getting louder and louder as descended. Each note promised ease to this temporary inconvenience.

I drank, and drank, and drank. One glass after another, drowning myself in golden and crimson liquid. It was just one bad decision after another. Daisy, Wolfsheim, Jeffrey. My head span with the loud music, reverberating every foolish choice I made up to this moment. Some drinks in however, the band stopped, allowing me to focus a bit, despite the liquid fire muddying through my veins. To my surprise, however, I see my unassuming, meek old sport, Nick, sitting by his lonesome, trying to read or write something in this dim lighting. The roaring wildness of this place clashed so hard with his humble demeanor, that for a moment I had thought maybe I already had too much to drink. I went to him anyway, and lo and behold, it really was him in the flesh and blood.

As I approached him, I could hear him mumbling something about getting something back, before I greeted him with a warm smile,  
“Enjoying the services, old sport?”  
“Gatsby?” Nick stared up at me, his eyes unable to decide whether it should take in more or less of me. He quickly hid whatever it was he was reading. “What are you doing here?”  
I chuckled at his surprise, “I own the place?”  
Nick shook his head, “Right. Of course. But I mean, why are you here?”  
“Same thing as you, I assume. To drink; have fun!” I sighed, “I’ve had a long day at work.” I smile, then holler at one of the bus boys to order us both a drink.  
“No, that’s alright, Gatsby. My friend went to get us some.”  
My curiosity piqued, “A friend? From work I assume?”  
“Uh, yes, from work.” He shakily said.  
“Is he the friend you were talking about?”  
“Yes, actually.” He smiled.  
“Well, where is he then?”

Two glasses and a bottle of whiskey landed on the table then, “Hey, who’s this fella?”  
“Daniel, this is my friend, Gatsby. Gatsby, this is Daniel.”  
I offer my hand to him, but Daniel was awestruck, “Gatsby? As in the Jay Gatsby?” He hesitantly takes my hand, before shaking it profusely.  
I smile at him, “Why yes, indeed.”  
“Oh, it’s wonderful to meet you, sir!” He smiles, ear to ear. “I actually work here for you, sir! I’m a performer! I play the guitar.”  
Huh? “You work here?” I smiled, then pointed my gaze at Nick.  
“He works part-time. Mail room.” Nick hurriedly exclaimed, making me chuckle a little inside.  
Daniel passed us both confused glances, then asked Nick loud enough that his voice went over the noise of the crowd, “So how was job hunting?”  
Nick’s face dropped at the sudden question, while concern immediately took hold of me, “Job hunting? Why are you job hunting?”  
“It’s not what you think, Gatsby.” Nick immediately responded.  
“What do I think then?” I asked.  
Nick gaped, so I pressed, “Nick? What am I not supposed to think?”  
“Nothing” He responded, “I’m just… looking for actual work now.”  
Nick took a shot of whiskey, “I went into my job because everyone I knew was. I should have picked better, so I’m looking for new one.”  
Nick locked eyes with me, his face appearing relaxed yet it seemed to hold so much tension everywhere else, that if he even blinked, everything would snap apart.

Daniel coughed some moments later, cautiously tugging at the tension Nick and I had built. I broke away from Nick’s gaze, choosing to plaster a smile for Daniel instead.  
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run my mouth.” Daniel said.  
Nick and I both look at him. Nick with concern, and I with curiosity.  
“Nick speaks very highly of you even though he never mentioned you by name.” Daniel chuckled, “But he admires you a lot, and with everything that’s happened with you, you have to understand why Nick didn’t want you to worry about nothing.” Daniel reaches out and rubs Nick’s hand. Nick pulls back, however, and shrunk into himself, making me chuckle and smile at such earnest display of bashfulness.  
“I see.” I reply, “Well, I could help you find one. If you’d like, Nick.”  
Nick looks up, and smiles, still blushing from Daniel’s revelation, “Thank you, Gatsby, but you have so much on your plate already-”  
“Nonsense, Nick. I want to help. You deserve that at least. If not for you, then for me at least. Just so I don’t have to worry about you being out of work.”  
Nick protested more, but I was not going to let this one go. After the today, I need one thing to go right and a finding my best friend a job is something I can do. Nick eventually gave up, nodding his approval with a timid chuckle.

My bottle of wine arrived a moment later, and I poured us all a drink, “I propose a toast!”  
Daniel and Nick both looked at me with confused amusement, before Nick asked, “To what, Gatsby? So far nothing good has happened yet.”  
“Why, to our future, dear sport!” I laughed, “To better decisions in life!”  
We raise our glasses up, and toast them. I continued, “Soon, we will reclaim our lost time, and we will be kings of our own lives again!”

We drank all through the night, until we lost ourselves in the sparkling gold and velvet water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm still kinda busy (it's less now, but I still have stuff to do) but I wanted to continue writing this so here 😛
> 
> Unfortunately, I'll probably be posting more sporadically now, because, fuck, school is a priority 😔
> 
> Anyway, as always, leave a comment! Share your thoughts! I'd love to hear from you, dear readers! 😘


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I procrastinated on writing this for way too long. Sorry for that!
> 
> Anyway, here you go! Another long chapter! Enjoy! 😊

Rebuilding my legacy has been a more trifling and slower experience than anticipated. Even less amusing was that police captain, who’s been making strides in his investigations. My sources say he’s found out about that fateful afternoon I spent in the Buchanan’s apartment in New York, giving him a time frame of when we could have been on the road that night.

Thankfully, the commissioner has managed to halt any further advancements in his investigations, giving me more time to prepare for this growing inconvenience. While he certainly would not find any connection between me and that woman; Myrtle was it? He might find one with Daisy. That I cannot allow.

On the bright side, my business partners have been hard at work as well. Matthew has been finding us some new possible business partners. Though most weren’t as promising as our previous ones, the ones we did get showed much potential for the future. I’m reviewing our contracts now and any other ones that could replace Patton Cosmetics. However, none could. Patton Cosmetics already had a following, and it would take far too much time and money to build up another beauty product line to our customers that I’m confident in spending. No, we needed to find new consumer pools. Ones that doesn’t dip into Patton’s.

After a while, my father comes in, picking the scattered papers and plates, and bringing me a new cup of coffee.  
“Father, what are you doing? I have servants for that.”  
“Well, it ain’t like I’m doin’ much ‘round here anyways,” He replied, picking up a plate of food on the coffee table, “You didn’t even touch your lunch.”  
“I’ll eat later”  
“Jimmy, you needs to eat.” He brings the plate over to my desk.  
“Father, no, my desk is full! I don’t have any space left for that.” I told him, continuing to scan my documents.  
“Jim, you can’t keep workin’ like this. You’s gonna run yourself ragged.”  
Without looking up, I replied, “I just have to do this first”  
“Work can wait, food can’t.” He places the plate on the papers, reminding me with those words my mother would always say to us. He stares defiantly, daring me to act otherwise.  
I sighed, then firmly replied, “I promise, father, I will eat.”  
My father softened, nodding. He patted my back, “You need to eat, Jim.” My father walked off, closing the doors with a firm click.

I sighed. The leftover work has lessened but still piled high, and now that I have that police captain to worry about, plus finding the mole, I have to stay on my toes. Thankfully, Wolfsheim had more luck on his side. Our enemies took the bait, and instead of stealing back crates full of wine, they left about fifty or so of our men inside their warehouse, where they managed to raid their supplies, and more importantly, kidnap some of them. With any luck, he’ll have answers soon, but in the meantime, I needed to secure our assets, as utterly tiresome as it was becoming. I leaned back into my chair, letting myself sink for a moment upon its rich, soft leather. The temptation to close my eyes was strong and soon enough I let the darkness shade my eyes and mind. Steady deep breathes buoyed me through, letting the seconds expand to minutes…

I still had work however, and with a grunt, I struggled to lift myself from the soft, heavy embrace of sleep, and continued work. After finally finishing it, I let myself to take a break but find myself disappointed by the fact that my meal had gone bad. To hell if I’m going to eat that now. I pack up my papers and lock them in the drawers, then go down to see if Edgar could get me a fresh new meal.

I shouted for him, the sound echoing loudly as it travelled throughout the mansion. Odd. He always shows up when I call. Hell, he always shows up even when I don’t call. I’ve never had the displeasure of waiting on him.

“Father?” I called out. Where was the old man? I called again, yet still, none answered. I kept going, calling every so often to hear if anyone would call back. All around the halls, brooms and rags were scattered all over, a tray trolley was left standing on its lonesome in the middle of the hall, and a bouquet of wilting pink roses was still in its vase instead of being thrown and replaced, its petals dried and scattered across the floor.

Then, I hear something. It was soft at first, then it got louder as I approached the window. I opened the curtains to see that Nick was hosting a party at his little cottage. He looked delightful strutting around in his pink shirt, and white pants, and those beautiful red shoes. I wonder where he got those? I must ask him later. On his quaint porch, sat Miss Jordan, and his friend Daniel, eating biscuits and drinking tea. Nick sat beside Daniel, as they all talked and laughed.

Why the hell were they all there? And why wasn’t I invited? I tried opening the window, but it was jammed closed, making me jostle it awkwardly as I shouted for their attention. Their music unfortunately, had silenced any hopes of that.

And then...

I see _her_.

Lounging like the vision of perfection itself, she was draped in a pure white fur coat, with shades of pink playfully mixing with the white. Her smile was brighter than diamonds, laughter drizzled with gold, and eyes so beautiful it felt sinful to look upon them.

Daisy.

Dear Daisy...

As the music changed, Daisy squealed in delight. She asked Nick for a dance, and he obliged her. She shucked off her coat, revealing her yellow dress underneath. They skipped and twisted around to the beat of the music; Nick bright as sunshine and Daisy shimmering like gold.

I shouted again, trying to catch Nick and Daisy’s attention, but they were too enamored with their fun, dancing further and further away from my sight. Farther away from me. I dashed down the halls, the sounds of crushed rose petals under heel resounding my haste. I turned a corner, and then another, and then another yet somehow, I find myself nowhere nearer the exit.

I tried shouting for help but the only response that came were the cousins distant, cruel laughter. I continued to run, strands of hair falling out of place, as I tried to find any other way out in of this damned house. My echoes bashed against the walls and back into my ears, thrumming louder and louder, roaring into a cacophony of incessant cries and pants, the desperation to be with them, to be with her, becoming unbearable!

Then, a dead end. No doors or windows to go through, no ladder or ledge to climb out off. Just scattered brooms and rags, a single tray trolley stranded in the middle, and a wilted bouquet of pink roses. I turn back to find a different route, but I slammed face first into a wall. There was no way back. Only walls that seemed enclose further ‘round me with every turn I take. My breaths picked up, inhaling too much air than I should be, thinning the room until I could feel the prickling sense of nothingness clawing at my skin, and thrusting into my chest, pulling every vein and wall out my throat and pushing back in.

The walls crushed me inwards.

My lungs collapsed from the emptiness.

My vision dimmed to almost nothing.

Save for the sight of roses wilting from pale pink to sickly yellow.

  


  


  


…

  


  


  


Ringing slowly roused me awake. I had fallen asleep it seemed. I took a moment to completely rouse my senses back from my slumber, and another moment longer to realize that the sky had already gone dark. I stared dumbly down at my desk. Papers, pens, folders, and others such lie strewn about and on the floor. Finally, I managed to cobble my arms to answer the phone.

“Gatsby?” came Nick’s voice. I took a deep breath.

Nick was still here.

It was just a dream.

“Nick? What is it, old sport?” I answered tired, but relieved.  
“We need to talk.”

He hung up.

* * *

Nick came over immediately, adamant on not discussing whatever it was over the phone. I met with him in the gardens out back. He looked rather harried.

“What is it, old-?”  
“Not here,” he hushed, eyes darting everywhere. “Somewhere private.”  
“There’s the fountain in the hedge maze?”  
“Can’t we talk in your office? Maybe an attic even? Your room? Oh, wait, no, not there, thatwouldbeawkward," He trailed off.  
Okay. Something’s not right. “Are you alright?”  
“No.” He sighed.

I took a deep breath, looking out into the distance. Whatever it was, he did not want any prying eyes or ears. How sad. The night was beautiful too, and my friend had to have something terrible happen to him. Stars shining brightly in the horizon, a full moon in gentle display, and a gentle cool breeze carrying the soft lapping of waves on the docks, and no fog in sight. Perfect for a night of sailing.

Wait…

“C’mon, old sport! I know the perfect spot.” I grabbed Nick’s hand and pulled him along.

* * *

A yacht out in the bay was the perfect spot! No one could eavesdrop on us out there. Unless they were latched on the hull like some sort of barnacle, or had risked freezing half to death trying to float in the water next to the yacht.

Nick had second thoughts on riding in the yacht alone, making up all sorts of excuses, like the late hour, the darkness, sharks, and even a lost iceberg. I reassured him that I practically lived in the seas in my younger years, so I knew my way around all that, and that I would not let us sink. Eventually, he let up of course, and we sailed off.

For most of the ride, Nick had taken to standing at the bow, the farthest point away from the bridge. We were mostly quiet, Nick staring out into the horizon, observing the glinting of star and moonlight as it reflected upon the water, while I steered us across the calm sea.

Once we were far enough from the shore, I stopped the engine, and walked up to the bow to drop anchor. Finally, I turned to Nick, and asked, “So, what was it that you wanted to talk about?”  
Nick sighed, keeping his hands inside his pockets, “The police are tailing me.”  
My eyes widened at that. Nick quickly added, “It’s not just me. Jordan called, said there were these strange men following her everywhere.”  
I scoffed, “Of course. If they can’t get to their target, they go after the next best thing.”  
“But we weren’t with you, Gatsby. What do they hope to find?”  
“Whatever they can. Incentive, blackmail, all the sorts. Anything that’ll make you talk.”  
Nick chuckled, “Good luck with that.”  
I smiled at that, “What about Jordan? Do you think she’ll talk?”  
Nick mused with the thought for a bit before replying, “I don’t think she will. She’s a liar, certainly, but she’s not one to kiss and tell.”  
“So, you trust her?”  
Nick chuckled again, “Trust implies I believe her with everything. I just believe her in this one instance.”  
“Hm. I’ll take your word for it, then.”  
“And the police? What are we going to do about them?” He asked.

Even with the commissioner’s interference with the case, they’re still clearly keen on digging up dirt on me. Seems I have to deal with them directly. They want information? They’ll get it.

“I’ll handle it. You just go about your business as usual, old sport.” I assured him.  
Nick gave a disgruntled huff, “I hate that I can’t do much to help.”  
“You’ve helped plenty already, old sport.” I gently reminded him, offering him a smile.  
“Doesn’t really matter if you lose everything,” He sulked.

We were silent for a moment, huddled close together in the cold sea air. The countless stars sleepily watched my tiny little ship drift at sea, innocently observing two little men sharing a night of troubles and comfort we could offer each other.

“Getting colder, huh?” Nick said, “Summer really is about to end.”  
“Yep.” I agreed.  
“And after summer evermore succeeds; barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold.”  
I thought about his words for a moment, before asking, “Doesn’t fall come-?”  
Except Nick shushed me, and immediately countered, “Let me have this, Gatsby. It’s not often I get to quote Shakespeare in real life.”  
I chuckled, “Have his sonnets memorized by heart, then?”  
“Why do you think Tom calls me Shakespeare?” He laughed.  
“I thought it was because you loved writing.” I answered.  
“I got into writing, because I loved Shakespeare!” He exclaimed. 

We laughed in the peace, letting the waves carry them off to shore. Nick took out his flask, taking a quick shot, and offered me drink too. I declined this time though, since I had to steer the ship back. The two of us leaned on the ship’s rails, looking out into the skies. This was nice. Just a quiet night with my friend, and a much-needed respite from all my troubles. I look back to Nick, whose strong and sharp features of his face were outlined by the gentle light of the moon. The stars reflecting in his eyes.

After a moment, I asked, “Speaking of work; why don’t you do that?”  
“Do what?” He wondered, looking straight at me.  
“Writing.”  
Nick laughed, “I wasn’t that good.”  
I leaned into him, “Nonsense! You clearly loved it!”  
“Love only gets you so far, Gatsby.”  
“It got me this far.” I waved my arms out, displaying myself in all my wonderful glory.  
Nick merely glared at me with those judging eyes, “Yeah, about a hundred stitches, and several weeks in bed.” He looked back into the sky, laughing to himself as he enjoyed the cool evening air on his reddening face, and the rush of alcohol running in his veins.  
I punched him lightly on his shoulder, resting my arms back on the railing beside him. “Okay, fair, but I had you with me.”  
Nick looked back, a sudden hardness to his face, but curiosity sparkling in his eyes.  
“I’m sure I can be there for you, too.” I smiled at him.  
Nick looked down at the water, his eyes darting about for something down there.  
I grabbed his shoulders, and shook him, “And hey, at least this one might actually love you back! Unlike mine.” I laughed.  
“Yeah. Maybe.” Nick smiled, red glowing on his face.  
I couldn’t help but tease him for that, “Wait, are you blushing?”  
Nick touched his cheeks, “Must be from the drink.”  
“Really now, old sport? I’d say you love hearing me praise you. Shall I sing you more?”  
“Don’t flatter yourself, _Jim-Jim_. Your charms about as wonderful as your humility!”  
I feigned a scoff, “Oh! I have yet to begin charming you, my dear Nick! If I had, I would have showered you with the finest gifts money could buy! Took you to the grandest places on Earth!”  
Nick laughed, “What exactly have we been doing these last few weeks?”  
‘’Those weren’t for you.” I teased.  
Nick raised his eyebrows, a mischievous grin growing on his face, “So what is it that will be for me then?”  
“Oh, you’ll know, old sport. You’ll know.” I grinned back.

We stared at each other for moment, daring each other to move, before Nick finally caved and broke out laughing. I looked back to the sea, proud at winning our little game. No one could out-tease the great Gatsby! My eyes landed on the other side of the bay, the city lights flashing through the horizon, like a crowd of reporters congratulating me on my latest victory.

But…

That haunting green light shined through the cityscape, batting it’s glow as though expecting me to follow and chase as it receded ever further back into the light of the city. You’d think when they left, they would have extinguished that light, and yet it still stands, and I left to wonder. What ever happened to them? To her? 

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Nick dropped. He stared at the receding green light, knitting his brows tightly. He took a drink of his flask, longer than the others. Is he worried too? They are cousins after all.  
“Is it that obvious?” I asked, going for cheery nonchalance at the intrusion.  
Nick laughs a sad one, brief but lingering longer than any sound the sea could offer, and striking deeper than any bullet could.  
“You know; you are the most hopeful man I’ve ever known.” He offers a smile, though pain marred every crease it made on his face, “The girl you loved left you. Twice. You almost died. Your business is falling apart. And the police are going to arrest you for a crime you didn’t commit.”  
“It wasn’t her fault.” I replied, far too quick and far too loud that I could feel the stars glaring down at me for my social faux pas. Not that it mattered. We were by our lonesome at sea.

But it did matter to Nick. He stared, confusion staining his face, “Gatsby, she was the one driving. She ran over that woman.”  
“But I let her drive, when I knew she wasn’t in any condition to,” I defended, “It was my fault that woman died.”  
Nick shook his head, “What do you mean? She’s not your responsibility, Gatsby.” He gritted.  
“She was frightened, and more than a little drunk.” I reminded him, “I should have known better.”  
Nick would not have it though. He paced around, scrubbing his palm over his face, “She’s a grown woman, Gatsby! She should have known.”  
“Be that as it may, I knew she was drunk, and I let her. The responsibility is ultimately mine.”

Nick looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. His face was hard, fists balled so hard, they looked ready to pop, eyes shut tight, and huffing so hard that he was shaking.

“Look at me, old sport.”  
Nick opened his eyes, but still refused to look back. He loosened his fists, and reached inside his coat again, bringing out his flask.  
“Nick.” I begged.  
Nick stopped before he could kiss it. With one long sigh, he locked eyes with me, and at once, I could see everything he wouldn’t or couldn’t say.

“Everything will be fine.” I cooed and rubbed his shoulders “I’m not going to turn myself in, don’t worry.”  
Nick’s eyes softened, as I chased away the fear and anger and sadness clouding them, and letting the glimmer shine back once again.  
“I just need you to know that Daisy wasn’t at fault, alright?”  
Nick closed his eyes again, breath shaking more again. I called his name, again, and he opened his eyes for me again. I smiled gently, rubbing and squeezing his arms and shoulders, until his breaths became steady again.

Finally, with a long huff, and one last pleading look to the heavens, he mutters, “Do what you have to do…” He looked patted my hands, rubbing circles into them “Just don’t die again.”

He grabbed my arms off his, gently letting them fall back to my sides. He drunk his flask, leaving it dry, and walking away to some other part of the yacht. The silver light of the moon kept him in sight, even as the green glow recedes in the distance, shrinking before nightly heavens’ gaze.

_Do what you have to do._

* * *

“Fore!” Jordan yelled as she swung her club hard, sending the golf ball soaring into the air. It flew and flew and flew until finally, it arched downwards, and shot straight down into the cup. A hole-in-one.

I clapped for her, as she turned and smiled at me. And she smiled.

And smiled.

And…

Smiled…

Wider…

…

“What?” I squirmed, unnerved by her incessant smirk.  
“You’re supposed to get the ball from the hole?” She grinned, playfully flashing her teeth.

I ran towards the hole, slugging her bag behind me, as I hastily picked the ball up from the hole. I ran back after Miss Jordan, who was already making her way towards the next flag. Once I finally caught up to her, she continued to do the same shrewd smirking again, until I caved and ask what the issue was now.

“The tee?”

Right. I scrambled to set her up, all the while she giggling at me. Perhaps disguising myself as her caddie was a bad idea.

“You are a terrible caddie. Remind me to recommend you to my opponents.” She teased, as I got up and dusted my white pants off. The stain wouldn’t come off, sadly.  
“Yes well, I need a favor, so here I am.” I smiled through the pain.  
“Quite elaborate of you to give my regular caddie a day off, and disguise yourself as him.” She remarked, readying to swing her golf club.  
“Well, the police are on my tail, and, from what I heard, on yours too.” I answered, “Can’t be too careful.”  
“From where I’m standing, you look more guilty than you would have in your own clothes,” She said as she swung, scoring another hole-in-one.  
She nodded her head towards the hole, a silent request to fetch it, which I did.

Unfortunately.

Fuck, this woman was enjoying this too much.

“So, what exactly is it that you want from me?” She asked once I caught up to her.  
I kneeled down again to set her up, before telling her, “I need you to send a letter to Daisy.”  
She raised an eyebrow at me, “What makes you think I’ve kept in contact with her?”  
“Well, unlike Nick, you didn’t side with me, which I suspect is her reason for not answering Nick’s calls.” I reasoned.  
“Well, I’m sure Nick has told you otherwise.” She smirked.  
“I also know that you’re a consummate liar.” I cheerily shot back.  
“Oh, Gatsby, darling, have you no trust between confidants?” She coyed.  
I smiled wider, “I’m afraid you’re more hers than mines, anyway.”  
She playfully sighed, “Oh, well, you have me there.”

Once she scored her goal above the hill, she joined me on my way to retrieve her ball, continuing the conversation as we went along.  
“So, what is it that you want me to send her way?” She smiled.  
I took a deep breath. Well, she made her choice already. I just need to make sure she’s safe. “That she disappear. Completely.”  
That gave Jordan pause, making her do a double take.  
I continued, “She leaves New York, and move to some other country, far from here.”  
Jordan blinked, “You don’t actually believe she’ll do that, do you?”  
“I have to try.” I offered.

Jordan set her own tee at the next hole, “I could just give you her address.”  
My breath hitched. The thought of meeting Daisy again. The rich smell of her perfume. The golden glow of her skin. It was… tantalizing. Almost unbearable.

Almost.

“No.” I shook my head, “I can’t go to her again.”  
“Then, I’ll tell Nick.” She supplied.  
“Somehow, I think that would be a worse idea.” I sputtered, the very thought terrifying me.  
“Yes, but it would be good drama. Anything to get that boy to do something.” She pouted.

She shot her ball across the field. As we watched it fly and arc through the sky, curiosity got the better of, and I had to ask, “Why did you and Nick stop seeing each other?”  
Jordan looked at me, a flicker of emotion in her eyes, before she masked it behind her smile, “I’m sure you’ve heard it all at the boutique. We simply weren’t a match, and eventually we drifted apart.”  
The ball landed short.

As Jordan prepared to gently tap the ball in, she continued, “But if you must know. It was Nick’s fault.”  
“How so?” I wondered, leaning closer, using her golf bag as a crutch.  
She sighed, “Nick was the one who cut me off. After that night, he disappeared, along with Daisy. I tried to reach you the following days, but none of you were answering. Knowing your plans, I thought you took off, and left me alone.”  
Finally, Jordan took her shot, tapping the ball gently.

It went in with a soft plunk.

Jordan stood up then, and looked me straight in the eyes, “But then news of your accident came out. Turns out, Nick was busy tending to your interests. Hiding news of your attack for as long as he could. Defending you in the news. Denying any wrongs to your name. He even managed to get a few of the nastier reports about you taken down. I tried to reach out but he was never at work, and the hospital you stayed in had some rather unsavory types walking about. I couldn’t go anywhere near him.” Jordan sighed, her shoulders slumping from her usual graceful form, “He was eventually fired from work. Turns out ‘caring for a dying friend’ doesn’t constitute free work leaves.”

This was… news to me. I knew Nick was taking care of me during my stint at the hospital, but I didn’t realize to what extent, and at what cost. Nick protected me all this time. Keeping, not only me, but my reputation intact. And he lost everything for me. His career. His friends. His life.

Nick did all that.

For me…

Jordan stood silent, staring off into the sky. She watched the clouds pass by, carried by the morning breeze, as the sunlight peeked through them gazing down at our quiet moment of contemplation.

Then, Jordan sighed, gently releasing the tension that was built up in the air, before cheerily answering, “Alright, then. I’ll do it.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Your message to Daisy? I’ll pass it on.”

Oh.

Right.

We were talking about her.

Gathering my wits about, I stumbled out, “Um, thank you.”  
“Now let’s discuss payment.” She immediately added.

I sighed.

Ever brazen, isn’t she?

“Of course,” I smiled, “How much?”  
“Oh, I don’t want money.” She replied.  
That was curious, “How exactly am I to repay you then?”  
Jordan looked up, toying with the thought. She kept tapping her lips and stretching her “Hm’s” in a display of deep thought.  
Finally, she answers, “Well, I have no need at the moment so... I suppose I’ll just save it for a rainy day!”

I laughed and shook my head at her. Never a dull moment with Miss Jordan, hm? Well, at least whatever she’ll ask of will be interesting if nothing else. Hopefully nothing illegal though.

“Alright. Then we have a deal.” I offer my hand to her, and she takes it in a firm grip.  
“So, how about a ride home then?” I offered.  
“And use that as payment? Not a chance, you cad!”  
I laugh, “Why, Ms. Baker, I’m not that dishonest!”  
Jordan laughs, taking my elbow, “Well, I suppose there’s a reason Nick stayed with you, instead of me.”

* * *

Now normally, Matthew would usually be spending his weekend relaxing with his family, and I wouldn’t bother him for anything until Monday. He especially deserves it after running around convincing some of our contacts to have a go at our latest model However, between the choice of facing a very disgruntled Matthew, or going to jail, I think the choice was clear. Thankfully, the man never fails to meet my expectations, as angry and tired as he looks.

“For your own sake, Gatsby, you better have a good reason for dragging me out here.” He glared.  
“Oh, don’t be like that, old sport! When have I ever called you in to handle the small things?” I smiled high and wide, until it hurt my cheeks.  
“Sometimes, I wish it was only the small things,” came a soft, gentle voice from behind Matthew.  
“Mrs. Brooks. I didn’t expect you to be here.” I answered, mildly surprised at the unexpected guest. I lowered my smile a bit, offering a more charming one rather than the borderline offensive one I gave Matthew. She returned the gesture in kind.

Matthew heaved a heavy sigh, taking his and his wife’s coat, and hanging his them on the chair he sat on, “Angela, sweetheart,” he cooed, “Why don’t you wait outside. I’m sure Mr. Gatsby’s secretary wouldn’t mind entertaining you for a bit.”  
She sighed, giving Matthew a tiny smile, and me a weary but patient glance. I smiled at them, as she let her husband guide her out, before he closed the door ever so gently behind her.

Once I was sure she was far enough out of earshot, I whisper-shouted, “Why’d you bring her here?!”  
“We were having our date night, when the nanny called us from the restaurant.” He scowled.  
“Couldn’t you have dropped her off first?” I said, still careful not to raise my voice too much.  
“We were closer to the office anyway. Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t know about our business ventures.” He air-quoted those last two words.  
I heaved. Yes, I knew Matthew shared everything with his wife, and while I tolerate that fact, I would still rather prefer not seeing that specific fact laid out plainly before me. I sighed, walking towards my wine closet, that I’ve filled out over the weeks. I usually have some of the sweeter wines, but right now, I feel like having whiskey.  
“Fine,” I digressed. There’s no point in arguing this further, “Anyway, the police are still on our hides.”  
“I am well aware.” He tiredly waved.  
“Then we need a plan.”

Matthew sat down, eager to get my machinations over with. I offered him some alcohol, which he outright declined, so I went straight to the facts.

The police were looking for answers? Then we’ll give them answers. As far as motive goes, they seem to be going for ‘rich man cutting his losses for sleeping with a married woman.’ That sounds stupid. For one, I’m not married, so I have no reason for killing her, aside from maybe saving face from a hypocritical society, and avoiding bail and a few weeks of jail time, none of which is any real concern to man of my standing. We need to give them someone with a better motive. An actually married man, and someone who frequents that route.

“Any ideas?” I asked him.  
Matthew spitballs a few names off the top of his head. All an easy out, but I doubt that would stop them. They’re gunning for me specifically, even if the motive doesn’t hold up. No, they want to find something bigger.

“We could pin it on one of the other gangs.”  
That piqued his interest, “How?”  
“Someone took the bait. Wolfsheim’s interrogating them now.”  
I took a swig, “No names yet, but they’ll squeal soon enough.”  
“We don’t even know if any of them would fit the profile.”  
“Doesn’t matter if they don’t.” I dismissed, “We’ll just have to make sure they fit.”  
It wouldn’t be the first time. New timely evidence only surfacing at the last minute. And with enough of them found, they could very well secure innocence or guilt.  
Matthew nodded along, before addressing the proverbial elephant in the room, “What about you? We still need to prove your innocence.”  
That part’s a bit trickier. They already know that a car matching mine hit that woman. Combined with testimonies of my departure from the Buchanan’s apartment, those testimonies could very well ruin me.  
“There’s too many witnesses from the Valley to have them all withdraw, so we’ll need those New York witnesses to withdraw instead.”  
“Blackmail or bribe?” Matthew supplies.  
“Money leaves a trail.” I warned.  
Matthew sighed, “I’ll start looking then.” 

I poured myself another drink, and I offered Matthew again as well. He seemed to mull over the idea, looking just about done with dealing with my mess on his weekend with his wife no less. His better judgement won out eventually, deciding to forego the offer again, sane man that he always was.

Matthew then raised a concern, “Having those statements recanted doesn’t exactly mean you’re innocent. We need evidence that shows you are in no way shape or form related to the victim.”  
“Of course,” I nodded absently, already trying to think of one. Providing evidence to show a relation is one thing. Providing one to show no relation however? That requires a bit more creativity.  
But of course, Matthew has a more straightforward solution, “Why not just tell them the truth?”  
I stare dumbfounded. I knew Matthew was annoyed with me, but suggesting that is just telling me to commit suicide.  
“What truth?” I question, before jesting, “That she was ran over by my car? Yes, that would exonerate me.”  
Matthew glared, however, finding no amusement in it, “I meant telling them of your affair.” He clarified, “With Daisy?”

That was an even worse idea. The entire reason I haven’t even mentioned the Buchanans once in this whole affair, was because I didn’t want to risk Daisy getting involved. She was the one driving, and if they caught even a whiff of that, they’d lock her up forever. I can’t have that.

“No,” I shot him down.  
Matthew scowled, then raised his voice to protest, “It would clear you up instantly!”  
“No.” I looked him dead in the eyes. There was to be no further discussion of this.

Matthew sighed, slumping back into the chair in surrender, “Fine. What then?”  
I sat on the couch in front of him, devising a plan. Admitting to prior affairs with Daisy is out of the question, but the plan isn’t so bad, “Does she have friends? Family? A cousin even?”  
Matthew raised a quizzical brow.  
“They could testify about us not knowing each other.”  
“That doesn’t prove anything. The district attorney could just reason that she kept the affair hidden.” He countered.  
“Not if I was having prior relations with them.”  
“Then that gives you motive to actually kill her.” He blandly argued, cocking his head at me.  
“Then we’ll simply prove otherwise.” I smirked.  
Matthew rolled his eyes, and shrugged at me, “Oh, _simply_ prove it. Is that all? That’s very convincing.”  
I waved my arms in dismissal, “I’ll work on the details later!”

Matthew groaned, making his disapproval of my plans very apparent. But just so there weren’t any doubts on the matter, he comments, “This is stupid.”

“It will work!” I reassured my old friend, leaning in closer to him, “Trust me, Matthew.”

Matthew glared bullets into my head. He did not at all believe in this plan one bit. But he did believe me. And that would have to be enough.

Matthew closed his eyes in relent, then huffed out a heavy sigh that practically filled the room. He agrees.

I laughed, “Wonderful! Then let’s go find that woman’s family!”

We stood up from our seats, me first followed by Matthew. I opened the wine closet and poured us both a drink so we could celebrate. Before I could open it however, he raised his hand at me, and said, “You should ask Nick about this.”

Eh?

“How do you know Nick?” I asked, staring at him like he had suddenly just made Nick jump out of the closet, all giddy in his birthday suit.

“He was taking care of you during your coma? We were bound to talk at some point.”

I stared at out into nowhere lost in the idea. The thought never actually crossed my mind, funnily enough, and Nick never mentioned otherwise.

“Right.” I finally answered, “Um, anyway, I guess I’ll run it by him.”  
Then I wondered, “Why should I ask him, exactly?”  
“Nick knows the woman personally. He might know her family.”  
He didn’t tell me that. “How do you know that?” I scowled.  
“My wife told me. They talk by the way.”  
I blinked.

So…

Not only does Nick know Matthew…

He knows Angela too?

…

This is all very new to me. But not an unwelcome one. The thought of Nick being friends with my partner and his wife. It’s comforting, to say the least.

Huh.

My knowledge of dear Nick grows more fascinating with each day. I wonder what other things he hasn’t mentioned to me yet.

Guess I’ll just have to ask him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for dealing with my lazy ass so far! I promise I haven't dropped this, and I don't plan to! The next chapter would probably be shorter this time, since it won't deal too much with the complicated crime, business, and legal stuff, and focus more on Nick and Gatsby! 💖
> 
> Well, that's the plan at least. 😅 Hehe
> 
> BUT ANYWAYS, 'til then, have a wonderful day, dear readers!
> 
> And as always, I encourage you to share your thoughts in the comments! 😄


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit the chapters are supposed to get shorter, not longer!  
> Oh well, enjoy this 8k+ chapter of Natsby tingz, while I awkwardly find ways to get rid of Henry lol.
> 
> At this point I should just accept that I'm never going to write another short chapter and will take longer to update with new chapters :P
> 
> ALSO, I changed the title! Hope you don't mind, but I'd love to hear thoughts on it lol :P
> 
> EDIT: Noticed a few errors while re-reading this so I edited it :P

Early in the morning, even before I tidied up from sleeping, I tried calling Nick to invite him over for breakfast. He wasn’t answering though. Probably still asleep. The man has been in and out of his house lately, evidently still looking for a job. I should really just find him one at this point. After all, it was my fault that he got fired from his work apparently. 

Which reminds me, I should really bring that up with him. He shouldn’t lie to me about these kinds of things. Whatever damage I cause, I have to repair. It simply isn’t right at all if I don’t.

Anyway, since he wasn’t answering I decided to drop by his house. Going through the back garden to Nick’s cottage, I spot my father who was knocking at his door. 

“Pa!” I shouted at him. He turned around, surprise popping out of his eyes.  
“Jimmy? What is it, son? Were you lookin’ for me?” He asked as he came down Nick’s porch.  
“No, no. I’m actually here for Nick. What are you doing here though?” I wondered.  
“Oh, Nick and I was supposed to go to the market today.” He replied.  
I blinked at him, “Pa, we have people to do that for us. You don’t need to do this. Didn’t you have a usual routine that you did back home?”  
“I would usually be checking on the cows, but you don’t seem to have any, so I have to do something else to keep pro-duc-tive.” He snorted. “And since I’m practically blind now, I needs someone to drive me anywhere I want to go.”  
I stare at him for a moment, nose scrunched in bewilderment. Why bother with all of that? I thought he had men working for him now? What has he been doing with the money exactly?

I shake my head, waving the topic off for another time. Right now, I need Nick. 

“NICK!” I shouted as I knocked at his door.

No answer.

I knocked again, harder this time. 

Still nothing.

“Nick must be real tired, eh?” My father hums.  
“No, Nick’s a light sleeper. He always woke up when he couldn’t feel me next to him in bed.” I off-handedly commented, as I peered into Nick’s living room window. He didn’t seem to be downstairs, so maybe he still was in his bedroom. I tried to see up into Nick’s tiny bedroom window to no avail of course. I’ll have to climb up the lattice wall to his bedroom window to see anything.

When I looked back at my father, he was looking at me with a rather scandalized look on his face. I scowled back at him, retracing our conversation before it dawned on me how that comment sounded like without context.

I scowled at him harder, heat gathering in my ears, “I meant at the hospital! He always woke up when I let go of his hand!”  
His eyebrows shot up.  
My face went hot. I am not about to explain myself for this! “Nevermind!” I hissed out.  
That just made my father look at me with pitying judgement.  
“You try sleeping alone after you get shot!” I hissed again, as I began to climb up the lattice wall. That got him to stop with the annoying looks.  
“Jimmy! Get down! You’ll hurt yourself!” My father panicked.  
I, of course, climbed up anyway.  
“James Ernest Gatz, you better get down here now or I swear I will beat you so hard you’ll be limping for days!”  
I looked back down at him, shoving some of the branches out of my face, and yelled as softly as I could, “Quiet down, pops! You’re scaring the neighbors!”  
“YOU JUST GOT SHOT AND YOU’S CLIMBING A GODDAMN WALL! GET DOWN!” The little man continued to flail.

Ignoring his protests, I reached Nick’s window, and as luck would have it, found it unlocked. I wiggled in, head first. Carefully, I placed my arms on his desk, as shimmy my legs up and in through the window. Then I slipped, and slid down his desk, slamming onto the floor with a thud, and scattering leaves, flowers, and papers everywhere in his room. God, I hope I didn’t break anything.  
I stood up, groaning as I stretched and twisted the pain out of my arms and back.

“JIMMY! ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?” My father shouted.  
“Y-Yes! I’m alright!” I shouted as I looked around his room. Apart from the mess I made, everything was in order, almost untouched even. I went around his room, picking up the papers scattered about. 

Hm?

> _~~Eyes on the Prize~~ ~~The Summer Treasure~~ ~~The Great Heist of 1912~~ smthing smthing title fuck  
>  _
> 
> _A young ~~man~~ veteran, Michael Dean, heads to the rich lands of the east, planning to make a fortune for himself. There he ~~comes across~~ meets the ~~beautiful~~ ~~wonderful~~ ~~enchanting~~ charming James NO _

The text cuts off abruptly before moving on to the next one. 

> _Once the young Michael Dean finally ~~manages~~ ~~to escape his father’s~~ ~~to escape-s~~ gets away from his dull life in the rural Midwest, he booked it for the east coast on the first train to the Golden city of New York City! _
> 
> _Life throws a curveball at him, however, as he ends up charged for the theft of a priceless museum artifact. He is fortunately saved by the ~~devastatingly handsome~~ ever-dashing Mr. Ernest Emmanuel, a wealthy and well-travelled man, who’s on the hunt for the elusive (insert esoteric treasure name here). _
> 
> _Now targeted by powerful hidden forces from all sides, Michael gets tangled up with Mr. Emmanuel’s dangerous yet exciting life as they travel across the world, finding danger, fun, and perhaps even love along the way, as the great race for the treasure gets on!_

Interesting. I skimmed through the rest of his manuscript, trying to arrange them as best I could, with some particular lines here and there catching my attention.

> _“Mom and Pops took on all sorts of jobs, working all day and night, looking like corpses who shambled out of their graves. Then mom started staying at home longer. I think I infected her at some point. But she never stopped working. Even coughing up a storm, she still went around houses, doing other people's laundry, sewing other kids’ clothes." Ernest took one last smell from the rose, before gently pinning on Michael’s suit, the pièce de résistance to complete his disguise._
> 
> _“Ah, well. It hardly matters now, old sport!” Ernest smiled as he folded any missed creases on Michael. “Shall we then?” They went into the party, the sounds of jazz welcoming them into the atrium._

Hm.

I set them back on his desk. I looked around some more. Hurrying down the stairs and into his dining room. There were no plates out, or any dishes in the sink. Everything was starkly clean.

Come to think of it, his house was absolutely silent when I arrived, save for the soft chirping of the birds outside. Nick was a very loud morning person. Back at the hospital, I’d always wake up to the sound of music from the radio, while Nick would be quietly eating by the bedside, or reading his latest book.

I went out to Nick’s front porch, then to his backyard. No sign of his car anywhere. I went back to my father, who stood anxiously in front of the house.  
“He’s not here! I don’t think he came home last night.” I worried. Where could Nick have gone off to? Did something happen? Is he alright?  
“Calm down. Maybe he’s staying with a friend.” My father offered.  
I quickly riffled through my thoughts. Nick was fired, so he doesn’t have an office to sleep at. He definitely wouldn’t sleep at Jordan’s. The only thing I can think of would be…

I ran back inside, finding Nick’s telephone, and calling the speakeasy.  
“Hello? This is Gatsby. I need an address.”

* * *

Daniel Smith lived right at the very edge of the valley of ashes, right next to the river. Here, destitution was at its most minimal, where buildings still held the vaguest hint of wood and stone in its foundation, if even in ramshackle form, and the people that shambled about had at least a semi-respectable attire to wear. Still, vagrants were out and about, sleeping on the side of the broken road, or on the doors of the many closed down stores and apartments that stretched across.

We found his building easily enough, looking better for wear than its neighbors. This one at least had flowers growing in front. Quaint blue little flowers, that contrasted harshly with the rest of the valley. We buzzed his apartment, my father with me, having insisted on coming along. He was worried as to the whereabouts of our dear Nick. As we waited, he looked on to the desolate landscape, watching somberly as it stared back in silent indifference.

“So, Nicky’s friend lives here?” He spoke softly, as though fearing to startle the stillness of the world he beheld before him.  
“He said so,” I replied, “Though it’s hard to imagine Nick sleeping soundly with such squalor around him.”  
He shrugged, “We got through the night well enough.”  
“We also didn’t have the smell of garbage and smoke hanging on our noses.” I scrunched up my nose at the reminder of the scent. I buzzed him again, patience growing thinner with each offending smell that assaulted my nose.

Finally, just before the third buzz, Daniel opens the door, wearing nothing but his underclothes, looking just about ready to send us out skidding back into the street when he realized who exactly he was staring at. His mouth hanged open for moment before managing to form any coherent words, “Mr. Gatsby? What are you doing here?”  
I smiled at the man, “I’m looking for Nick. Is he here?”  
“Oh, of course! Please come upstairs!” He excused as he stood aside, holding the door as we walked in.

The inside looked comparatively well enough. Splashes of pinks and blues here and there. Nothing extravagant, but enough to mask away some of its sadder parts. The tenants themselves were easier to look at than the ones outside. Although their clothes were nothing compared to the stylings of New York’s high society, they were creative enough with what they had, creating an interesting look from their simple clothing choices that seemed distinct to each. 

And while I did enjoy such unique fashion, they on the other hand did not find me as delightful. People kept on staring at us as we walked upstairs, with faces ranging from wary, to unfriendly, to downright frightened. They stopped midway through the halls, broke their groups through the middle, or turned another corner when they spotted us, gossiping in hushed tones once they thought we were out of earshot. I suppose the well-off aren’t exactly a welcome sight in this part of the city, especially with the accident still looming over everyone.

When we arrived at his door, Daniel stopped and turned as he stood between the open space to his apartment, blocking our view, “I’m sorry, could you wait out here for a moment? I just need to clean the mess up first.”  
He locked the door behind us, though the thin walls didn’t do much to hide the sounds of scrambling feet, clinking glass, and hushed whispers.

While we stood idly in the hallway, someone tapped me lightly from the shoulder. We turned to be greeted by a warm and wide smile from a small, elderly woman, wearing a cheery champagne dress that just barely floats above her feet, and a hair bun that just manages to keep her tiny little curls in place. She was clutching a small empty mason jar in her hands.  
“Oh, Danny, you’re up!” She aimed at me, “Listen I’m plum out of sugar, and I didn’t want to walk all the way to the store, so I was wondering if you had any?”  
I smiled at her, perplexed, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you must have me confused with your neighbor, Daniel. My name’s Gatsby.”  
She drew her head in closer, squinting her eyes, “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m not wearing my glasses, and you look so much like him.”  
“It’s alright, dear gal, no harm done!” I said, as I gave her one of my charming smiles.  
The little woman laughed, “Oh well! Is he inside?”  
“He’s tidying up at the moment.”  
“Tidying up?” She exclaimed with eyes wide, “Well, you must be real special to get him to clean up! He never cleans up for any of his guests.”  
“Well, he does work for me, I suppose.”  
The woman eyes me warily then, placing one hand on her hip, “Oh. You’re not here to fire the poor boy, are you?”  
Before I could provide her with an answer, she quickly began to rant, “Because Daniel’s been working three whole jobs, and he’ll be damned to lose one more. That boy needs his jobs to stay afloat, you hear! He’s a sweet and hardworking boy, and you can’t fire him just because he happens to not turn up on time today!”  
She wagged her finger at me, flailing the mason jar around with it, threatening to hit my nose. I backed away just enough so that her finger doesn’t jab into me, and raised my arms in meek defense, “No, ma’am, I’m not here to fire him.”  
She retracted her arm, looking a bit flustered at her sudden outburst, but still eyeing me with suspicion, “Then why are you here?”

That’s when the door swung open, and all three of us turned to look.  
“Sheila? Henry? Gatsby?” Nick blinked at us.  
I smiled wide and bright, “Hello, Nick.”

* * *

I knew that Daniel had it rough but this was just sad to look at. He barely had any furnishings to speak of, save for a single couch, a radio, and a small potted house plant that sat by the window sill, which looked like they needed to be dusted again. His heater was broken, again he said, and the lights kept flickering. How Nick managed to fall asleep in such poor conditions I could not imagine.

Nick let us sit on the couch, while he pulled out three folding chairs from the other room, explaining that the third chair would be used as a makeshift table. 

“Oh, Nick don’t bother!” Sheila, the old woman, exclaimed, “I’m just here for some sugar, I won’t stay long!”  
“Nonsense, Sheila! You must stay. I’m already making breakfast!” Shouted Daniel from the kitchen.  
“I already had breakfast, dear! Its fine! I just need some sugar for my tea!” She shouted back as she went to the kitchen. Leaving us alone with Nick.

“Lively bunch, ain’t they?” My father grinned.  
“Yes, they are.” Nick smiled, even though he was clutching at his head, and wincing.  
“She his mother or somethin’?” Father asked.  
“No, she’s just a very nosy landlady.” Nick laughed before asking, “Why are you two here?”  
I answered, “Well, I was looking for you.”  
Nick knitted his eyebrows, “For me? How did you know I was here?”  
“I didn’t. I just hoped that you were.”  
Nick blinked, and the smallest of smiles appeared on his face. Then he arched his back, stretching his limbs all over it. The action lifted his shirt, exposing just the tiniest bit of his hips. I… didn’t think Nick could be so… flexible.  
“Um,” I began trying to find my words, “Are you alright?”  
“What do you mean?” Nick relaxed again, and slouched on his chair.  
“Uh, because, um, you were stretching?” I shook my head, “Er, what I mean is; did you sleep well?”  
Nick shook his head, and chuckled shyly, “Oh, yes! I’m fine. Just, um, morning stretches is all!” He reasoned, as he smoothed his hand over the lower half of his spine to his rear end.

Daniel came into the living room, carrying cups of coffee and a plate of toast, as Sheila followed beside him, who was apparently talking about me, since she pointed towards me as soon as she could see me, “See! He looks just like you!”  
Daniel precariously fit all the cups and plate on the small chair, just barely fitting them all, before laughing his reply, “No, we do not! He’s blonde and stocky, and I’m brunette and lanky!”  
“No, you’re not! You’re blonde too, and working at the docks did a fine job for your body.” She cheerily argued.  
“You need to put your glasses on, old bird!” He teased, then turned to us, “Alright, lads, go ahead ‘n eat!”

It wasn’t much of a meal, but it will suffice until lunch at least. As we ate, I had to ask my dear friend, “Why are you here, Nick?”  
Nick thinned his lips, quickly glancing at Daniel, who took a huge bite out of his toast, then Sheila, who was sipping rather loudly at her tea.  
And with that, Nick sighed, before quickly giving his answer, “Daniel and I went on a toot. Or more like I went on a toot, while Daniel watched. Got too drunk, and he lived nearby, so I slept here.” He drank as deep as he could from his cup, clutching it with both hands and making sure that it covered his face.  
“You could have called me. I would have picked you up.”  
He shook his head, “It was late, Gatsby. I didn’t want to bother you.”  
“Nonsense, Nick!” I shot at him, “No favor from you could ever bother me.”  
Nick smiled at that. He looked delightful, clutching his warm cup with both of his delicate hands. His face was glowing an adorable shade of pink, and his gaze just felt wonderfully soft on me.

Although, now that I had the chance to stare for a bit, I noticed something. Dark spots outlining the side of his neck.

A strange feeling jabbed at my chest. I suppose I didn’t like the look of them on him. They did ruin his marvelous skin. Nonetheless, Nick managed to find a lucky lady to have some much-deserved fun it seemed. I had to be happy for him! So naturally, I teased him about it, “Either way, it seems like something more happened, last night.”

Nick’s face dropped immediately, while Daniel and Sheila went dead silent. They turned to each other. They didn’t talk. Not with their lips, at least, but a jerk of the eyebrows, and avoidant pupils certainly spoke plenty.  
Daniel opened his mouth, before Nick spoke, “What do you mean?”

I stared at them, a cheery smile still in display, but curiosity was plain on my face now, “Need I spell it out for you, Nick?”  
Nick offered a nervous chuckle.  
I chuckled back, “Your neck, Nick.”  
Nick touched it then, and realized just what I was referring to. Nick’s face went back to a blank stare, “I was just-”  
“He was.” Daniel cut him, as he held Nick by nape, “There was a lady he was quite occupied with before the alcohol finally got the better of him, and I had to drag him home.” Daniel smiled back as he massaged circles onto Nick’s nape. Nick nodded along, offering him a shy grin as Nick gently patted Daniel’s hand on him.

I coughed roughly, and they turned, “Ah, well that’s unfortunate.” I smiled wide, teeth and all, “Anyway, Nick, we should probably go. After a night like that, I’m sure you’re eager to sleep in your own bed.” I stood up, urging my father to follow along, making him hastily finish his coffee and toast.

“Oh, right now, Gatsby? But I just woke up! Let me at least finish my toast before we take off.”  
I stared at his half-burned toast, then looked back at Nick’s face. Handsome as he was, last night did a number on him. He had bags under his eyes, and now that he wasn’t pink with bashfulness, he looked rather paler than he usually was.

“Tell you what, dear Nick! How about I treat you to breakfast before we go home.”

* * *

At first, I was going to invite Daniel over for some breakfast, but neither he nor Nick were very receptive to the idea. Besides, Daniel was still dead-set on working. Ah well, better for me anyway. Now, I can be alone with Nick.

As soon as I drop my father off somewhere. Dammit, why did I bring him along?  
“So, pops? Do you have any plans for the day?”  
“I was planning to go to the market, remember?” He idly replied, as he took a large bite out of his burger.

While I would like to get him out of my hair, I don’t like the idea of him doing any sort of manual labor, “We talked about this, pops, I have servants to do that sort of work for me.”  
“And we talked ‘bout me want’n to do somethin’ pro-duc-tive.” He drawled out each syllable in that last word.  
I sighed. This man needs a hobby. “How about I get you a new camera while were in the city, hm?”  
“I still have the one back at Minnesota, though.” He said, as he chewed through his burger.  
“Then you’ll have two!” I beamed, “You can’t ever have too much of anything.” I said, as I took a bite of my Eggs Benedict, letting the yolk drip and run all over my waffles and bacon. Nick lowers his fork as he chuckles at my statement, shaking his head before he eats his apple pie.  
Once I swallowed my food, I said “After that, I’ll take Nick home, and you can practice with your new camera.”

Nick hummed wide eyed with his mouth still full. He took a drink of his orange juice to help him swallow his pie, gasped, then finally spoke, “I can’t actually go home yet, Gatsby. I need to get back into the city and find my car.”  
“I can have someone pick it up for you, dear sport, just tell me where you were before Daniel’s.”  
Nick thinned his lips into a line, “Well, Gatsby, I still have to get back into the city, anyway.” He chuckled nervously, “Job hunting and all that.”  
I lowered my fork, and looked him in his eyes, “Nick, I really think you should have some proper rest first.”  
He chuckled, “I’m fine, Gatsby, really.”  
“But I really-”  
“I’m fine” He said firmly, as he smiled at me, cheeks rising to meet his eyes that faintly glowed with such quiet happiness.  
I leaned over to him, chin over my fingers as I a tentative grin formed on my lips, “Alright.”  
Nick smiled wider, then went back to eating his pie.  
“But I’m coming with.”  
Nick looked up, eyes wide, a crumb of pie crust sliding down his lower lip. He raised his hand to his mouth, as he spoke, “You don’t have to, Gatsby, I swear I’m alright.” He said before swallowing his mouth’s fill.  
“No, I’m coming. You’re in no condition to go around town on your own.” I nodded, more to myself than him, and took my napkin and dabbed the stray crumb under his lip. He flinched at first at the gesture, before leaning into my hand to get the crumbs off.

Nick looked at me with widened eyes, a small grin forming on his face as he gave a single soft laugh, “Well, we have been rather busy these last few weeks. I suppose it would be nice to catch up on other things. You know, aside from…” Nick glanced at my father, then waved his hand, “your competition, I suppose.” He chuckled.

My father grunted then, “So where we lookin’ for your car?”

* * *

We went back towards Manhattan, to a small speakeasy near Chelsea and Greenwich Village. 

We rolled up in front of the building where it was hidden. Looking around however, Nick’s car didn’t seem to be around. Nick went in as soon as we parked, me and my father following closely behind him. The place was a small, colorful enough scene, full of spirited young men that danced and gossiped around, not unlike the tenants of Sheila’s apartment, except they were bolder, more adventurous in both dress and manner. Strangely, there were no women around though.

“I need to piss!” my father shouted over the loud music.  
I looked around the place, trying to sight Nick over the crowd. I spot him standing by the bar, looking like he was a one-sided argument with the bartender, who barely paying him any attention.  
“Alright,” I turned to my father, “We’ll meet together by the bar over there!” I pointed to where, and my father hurriedly left, clutching his pants as he waddled around looking for a bathroom.

“Well?” I asked Nick as I stood next to him.  
“He doesn’t know about it.” Nick replied, anxiously tapping away with both his foot, and his fingers.  
“I’m sure someone does, dear sport.” I patted his back, “Say bartender, who was working here last night?”  
He grumbles out a name and an address, as he tosses and slides and mixes together alcohol into different shakers, too busy even glance at us. I ask for the man’s telephone number instead, and if I could use their phone. The bartender grumbles again, then shouts at a young man walking around in a tight pair of pants and vest, hair slicked back, and his shirt unbuttoned just above his collarbone. He was carrying a tray full of cigars, and snacks. He looked like a cigarette boy.

The bartender tells him to call their fellow, and they argue for a bit over who’s busier, until the boy concedes. He leads us to the backroom, where the telephone was. While he tried phoning the fellow, Nick and I sat on the sofa. Nick sat straight up, tension evident on his spine. He was still tapping, or more like stomping, his foot rapidly, arms crossed over his chest, and scowling at everything he looked at.

I smoothed my hand over his leg, running it up and down his knee to calm him. Nick looked over, irritation melting away into worry as I tilted my head over to him and smiled. He let his arms down with a sigh, as he relaxed into the sofa.  
“Sorry. I’m just really worried.” He laughed, as he stared down at his twiddling fingers.  
“Hey, it’s alright,” I sat closer to him, knees bumping, “I understand, dear sport.”  
Nick looked up, “What do you mean?”  
I nodded, “Your car? You bought that with your own money, hm? And now it’s missing.”  
Nick hummed his acknowledgment.  
“Remember my life before New York? Everything I had back then, I struggled to get. And not all of them I managed to keep, either.”

Nick lowered his head down to look at his hands. He was quiet for a moment, before sighing, “It’s not just that, Jay. Things haven’t been getting any better since we left the hospital. Your business, the police, my job…” He trailed off, wiping his face down with his hand.  
“Hey, we’ll get through this,” I held his hands in mine, smoothing my thumb over them.

After about the fifth ring, the man responds. They have a brief exchange of words, then the cigarette boy drops the phone. We look up as to him as he walks up to us, and nods at Nick, “He says your car was stolen.”  
“What?! Who?” Nick sits on the edge of the sofa, hands clamped hard on the edge. I held him by his shoulders, pulling him back before he falls over, and rubbed his arms to relive him of his sudden tension.

The boy shrugs, “Some men in black coats. Who knows.”  
Nick turns to me for answer, eyes pleading for any sort of reassurance. Then the boy huffs, “You could try asking the police, though I doubt they’d help a couple of fairies like us.”

I stopped rubbing, “Pardon?”  
The boy glances my way, blinking once, but remaining as flat as ever. Nick quickly interjects though, “Oh, He’s not a-” He coughs, then spins his wrist. The boy just stares at him with furrowed brows and a frown that just keeps growing. Nick continues “I mean, he- doesn’t ride the same car as...” He opens then closes his hand quickly, giving himself a once-over, before glancing back at the boy.

The boy slowly nods, though his brows were still furrowed. I, on the other hand, have no idea what Nick was rambling about. I pulled my arms onto my lap, shaking my head at Nick with a confused scowl, and said “What are you talking about?”  
Nick turns to me with a rather large smile, “He just means you dress rather… whimsical! Fairy-like and all that!”

Very convincing.

I breathed in a lungful, then smiled at Nick and nodded, “If you have it, might as well flaunt it!”

Nick smiled wider, pearly-whites peeking out. The boy rolled his eyes at us, and ushered us out. Once out, he closed the door behind us, and immediately left for his tray. We went back to the bar, and sat on the free stools, “Want a drink?” I asked Nick.  
“No.” Nick said softly, then huffed, “Yes…”  
I ordered him a beer.  
“Something harder would’ve been nice.” Nick remarked, tapping his fingers on the counter, “You?”  
“I’m driving.” I smiled at him.  
“Right…” He nodded.

When his drink slid towards Nick, he guzzled it down quickly, “What do I do now?”  
“I suppose we could take the kid’s advice, though I’m not very keen on having anything to do with the police right now.”  
“It’s my car, Gatsby. I doubt they’d find anything there on you.” He huffed, looking lazily at his beer.  
“But you are connected. Better safe than sorry, dear sport.” I patted his back.  
“Then what?” He sat straight, and looked up at me.  
I pursed my lips, “I could have my men look for it. I have eyes and ears everywhere in the city.”

Nick swirled his beer, watching the foam slosh around at the top. With a loud grunt, he chugged it down, and slammed the near-empty mug down, “Forget it, I’ll simply make do without one.”  
I frowned, and shook my head, “No, you won’t, Nick. I simply won’t allow that.” I said firmly. Nick looked at me, a brow raised at me, “What?”

Fixing my suit and tie, I stood from my seat and left. I cocked my head to the exit, “Come on.”  
Nick shrugged, but went ahead anyway, leaving his unfinished beer behind. I paid for his drink, leaving a hefty tip, which the bartender was more than happy to accept if him expressing any other emotion other than his scowl would say.

Before we went out the door however, “Where’s pops?”  
We scanned the room, picking him out amongst the crowd. Then we spotted him regaling tales of his life in the Midwest to an entire host of men. Some of them were arguing with his advice, others agreeing, others laughing, and still others scoffing, but everyone was listening intently to his every story.

“Pops!” I shouted as I came to him.  
He looked up, “Jimmy!” He waved, “Scott over here was just having some trouble with his special someone, an’ I’s just telling him ta do somethin’ different an’ fun ta light the fire back in their ro-mance!”  
The men around raised their glasses in agreement.

I looked between all of them, then smiled, “Well, I’m sure you’ve helped a lot, but we have to go now.”  
The crowd aw-ed their disappointment, but nonetheless cleared a way for my father to move.  
I nodded to the crowd, “Gentlemen, thank you for keeping my father company.” They nodded back, and raised their glasses at my father, and cheered him off.

* * *

Nick felt anxious on the drive to our destination, but was nonetheless curious as to where I was taking him.

When we arrived however, Nick was a little less enthusiastic. Understandably so. A warehouse isn’t exactly the most glamorous of places to see, what with its rusty panels, and the smell of fish pungent in the air. “Where are we, Gatsby?” Nick asks.  
“One of my many warehouses, dear sport!” I exclaimed, unlocking the door, and opening it with a loud metal screech, “Shall we?” I offered him my hand.  
Nick chuckles, the lines of his eyes creasing with his smile, taking it in a tentative grip.

“Close your eyes,” I told him with a playful grin, and he obliged.

I guided him in, carefully helping him not to trip over the metal hurdle underneath the door. Once he was inside, I helped my father in too. I held Nick’s hand again and gently tugged him forward, towards a neatly blanketed pile, and placed both of Nick’s hands on it. He instinctively began to smooth his hands over it, his smile reaching more and more for his ears as he tries to get a feel for what it was, “What is this?” He laughed.

I left Nick and walked to the other side, “On the count of three, open your eyes.” Nick laughed again, and nodded.

“One.” I held the blanket.

“Two…” Nick lifted his hands off.

“Three!” I threw the blanket off the object, as Nick opened his eyes.

He stared at the unveiled object, his lips left hanging as he tries to find the words or sounds to express his feelings. The sunlight bounced off it’s beautiful, sleek red chassis, with black fenders curving round its wheels, outlined with delicate, white pinstripes. 

“It’s a Buick.” I said, “A Six 22-44 Roadster to be precise. Came out just this year. Not my usual style, but I thought this one was more your tastes.”  
Nick was in pure awe. He gingerly slid his fingertips across the hood, as though the slightest touch would disintegrate it to dust.  
“I was going to have the fenders colored white, but then I thought that seemed too loud for you, so I decided against it for something a little more inconspicuous.” I rambled, “Oh, but the seats I had them changed. The original ones that came with it weren’t to my liking, so I had custom ones made. These ones are far softer. Good enough to sleep on even! And they don’t stain either, don’t you worry about that!”  
Nick laughs at the unfortunate reminder of his old car.  
I continued to tell him about the specifics of the car further. It’s speed, it’s engine, fuel consumption, and…

He was staring at me with those twinkling eyes of his.

“I’m sorry,” I laughed, “I’m probably boring you now, am I?”  
Nick smiled, “No, it’s fine, Jay! It’s just, I haven’t seen you smile like this since…” Nick casts his eyes down as his smile shrinks, “Well, it’s just wonderful to see you happy again.”  
And I couldn’t help how rosy I must have looked.

Nick shook his head, “But anyway, where the hell did this come from, Gatsby?”  
I chuckled bashfully, “It was supposed to be for your birthday party, but seeing as you needed one now.”  
Nick slowly walked to my side, still gawking at the car before turning to me, “When did you even find the time to look for a car? You’ve been so busy all week, I’d thought you’d forgotten all about that!”  
“Come now, dear sport!” I gripped his shoulder and pulled him right next to me, “I’m never too busy to entertain! Especially, my friend!”  
Nick smoothed his hand over mine as he looked up at me, eyes sparkling with marvel. It felt… familiar yet… somehow new as well. I don’t what the feeling was, but all I know is that I loved it, and I wanted Nick to always look like this.

Nick looked back to the car, a faint shade of red playing across his cheeks. He sucked in his lips, before smiling again. I looked back to the car, and dropped my arms to my pockets, “So, want to take it for a spin?”  
“Absolutely!” Nick bounced.  
I smiled, “Keys are in the glove compartment.”

Nick bounced on his feet, eager to test out his new car. Even so, he was still very careful not to damage anything that it almost felt comical. While he was busy, I went to open the warehouse doors, and by the time I was done he was finally ready to try it out.

Nick drove the car out into the driveway, it’s engine purring excitedly with him, as the sunshine bounced off its glorious red coat. He laughed like pure sunshine, and looked wonderful underneath it too! Just seeing him like this, made it worth spoiling my gift for him. Oh well, I suppose I’ll just have to get him another one. 

“Hop in!” Nick shouted. I helped my father in first before getting in.  
“So where should we go?”  
“Wherever you want, dear sport!” I smiled, lounging back into the seats. “It’s your car.”  
Nick nodded, before his eyes grew wide with realization, “What about your car?”  
“I can have Matthew pick it up for me. I’ll have it by tomorrow.”  
“I need to go to the farmer’s market.” My father blandly interjected.  
Nick blinked, “Right! I drive you there in the mornings!” Nick sped off right away.

“Pops, no. I already told you, you don’t have to do that.” I chided him.  
“But I want ta help!” Pops grounded.  
“And I told you, we have servants for that.” I gritted.  
“Then what am I supposed to do in this goddamn city!” He shouted.  
“Perhaps we should go watch something instead!” Nick suddenly chimed in. We both looked at him in confusion for moment, the tension in our body loosening. Nick briefly glanced at us, before turning back to the road, and spoke, “There’s a horse race happening not far from here. We could head there now and watch.”  
“That sounds like a fantastic idea, dear sport!” I smiled at him  
My father considered it for a moment, “They runnin’ bets there?”  
“Of course!” Nick nodded.  
“Alright,” Father agreed.

* * *

Fortunately for us, the race had just begun when we arrived. Unfortunately, I was not a member at this particular track, so we could only get the regular seats. Nick had excused himself from the stands, while my father and I enjoyed the race. Pops shouted above the crowds, cheering for whichever horse he had bet on, and I clapped and cheered, a tad more dignified than the raucous display that Pops was doing. Halfway through however, I began to worry about Nick.  
I shouted at my father, trying to get my voice above the roaring crowd, “I’m going to look for Nick!”  
“Yeah! We’re winning!” Pops shouted back.  
I shook my head and smiled at the old man.

I looked around for him all over the track, before finally finding him inside one of the telephone booths. “Nick?” I knocked on his booth. Nick glanced back at me. He hastily mumbled something into the phone, before dropping it, and stepping out of the booth, “Gatsby? What is it?”  
“What are you doing here?” I asked.  
“Nothing. I was just checking up on Daniel. Making sure he got to work.” He gestured back to the telephone.

I nodded, “Okay. I was just worried is all. You were gone for a while.”  
Nick looked down and chuckled to himself, “Sorry about that.”  
I shook my head at him, “Do you not like horse racing?”  
He looked down, “No. I was just… thinking.” He nodded, as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
“Thinking?” I raised an eyebrow at him, pushing my coat back as I placed my hands on my hips, “About what?”  
“The car, Gatsby.”  
I frowned, “What’s wrong with the car?”  
“Nothing. I love the car! It’s perfect. Just-” Nick sighed, “I don’t know if I can accept it.”  
“Why not?”  
“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for this.” He threw his arms out and let it slap against his sides.  
“Nonsense!” I held his shoulder, “It’s a gift, Nick. From one friend to another.” I smiled at him. Nick frowned for split-second however, before nodding and smiling, “Yes. A gift. From a friend, yes.”

I patted his shoulder, before gesturing back to the stands, “Ready to come back and watch with me?”  
“No,” He shook his head, “I think I’ll stay out here ‘til the races end.” Nick took one of the empty seats. I looked out to the race to see the lap counter. They’re almost done, but…  
“Then I’ll keep you company then.” I took the seat next to him, placing an elbow on the table and leaning towards him. Nick looked at me as I leaned in, tensing momentarily, before smiling back. “Want something to eat while we wait?” I asked him.  
“What do they even have here?” Nick laughed.  
I went over to the concession stand and looked over their selection of meals. They weren’t very enticing however. Most of them were practically drenched in oil and fats, or were simply just empty carbs. And their drinks weren’t any more promising, most probably filled with ridiculous amounts of sugars.  
“Hotdogs and iced tea sound nice.” Nick had snuck up from behind me, placing himself right up to my side.  
I looked at him, “I’m not entirely sure I want to eat.”  
Nick chided, “It’s just this once, Gatsby. You won’t lose your figure because of one meal.”  
I sighed. He was right of course. I’ve worked hard to maintain such a fine sculpted form, but it still felt wrong to just break it now.  
Nick jabbed me lightly on my sides, “Trust me, Gatsby, it’s delicious! You’ll love it. Otherwise, you’re going to have to watch me eat, and that doesn’t sound like a very enjoyable thing for either of us.” He smiled.  
I rolled my eyes, and smiled at him, “Fine,” I looked to the clerk, and gestured at him, “Two hotdogs and iced tea, please.”

Once the food was served, we sat back down, and ate. Nick was right, of course, the hotdog had been amazing. The cheese, ketchup, and mayo blending wonderfully together, and that sweet savory taste of it just waters my tongue. God, it’s been so long since I had food like this. The iced tea was nice, but I still prefer the ones my chef makes.

“So, how is it?” Nick asked, smiling in-between bites.  
I stopped from my savoring, “It’s alright.”  
Nick smile grew wider, and he lightly punched me on my shoulder, “Shut up! You love it.”  
I chuckled, mouth still full, “Alright, It’s wonderful”  
“See? I told you it was.” Nick smiled, then took another bite of his hotdog.

The crowd outside roared, as another lap is finished. They hardly matter though. Sitting here with Nick, and enjoying this wonderful piece of fattener is fun enough for me.

“Why don’t you want your father going to the grocers?” Nick suddenly asked.  
“We’re rich, Nick. We don’t need to do any of these menial tasks. It’s degrading!” I went back to eating my hotdog.  
Nick scoffed, “Be that as it may, people still need to do something with their time.”  
“He could use it for more leisurely things. Like learning a new hobby, or a sport! Something befitting our status” I waved in the air.  
“Some people do like doing these menial tasks,” He air quoted, “like a certain stubborn man I know.” Nick took a sip of his tea, smacked his lips, then placed the glass back down. Not once however, did his eyes leave me.  
“That is not the same.” I pointed, “I have to run an entire business! Multiple ones in-fact. I don’t exactly get a time out.”  
“Save for those parties.” He pouted, “And Daisy.”  
“Hey! I was never at those parties. And Daisy was…” I paused, staring blankly at Nick. He stopped his chewing, and lowered his hotdog, staring back at me, breath held for my answer.

Daisy. Well. She wasn’t a mistake. No. She… She was amazing. Wasn’t she? I mean, business did go down a bit, but that was due to my own negligence. And my reputation may have… taken a dip. But it was well-worth it!  
“Well,” I looked down at my food, still trying to mull the thought over. It was worth it… It… It had to be…  
I looked back up at Nick and smiled, “It won’t happen again, I can assure you of that, dear sport.”

Nick thinned his lips, clearly unsatisfied with the answer, but nodding anyway. We continued to eat again, before Nick brough the subject of my father back up again, “You still have to let him do his own thing.”  
I began to grumble something back before Nick cut me off, “Jay, let you father help. That’s all he wants. Otherwise, you two are going to end up fighting for the rest of his stay here,” He held my arm, and looked at me straight in my eyes, “and I don’t think you want that.”  
“You don’t know that.” I shook my head, trying to grin.  
“Oh, I do know.” He nodded. “The way you two were arguing back in the car, it almost looked like you were going to throw fists at each other.”  
I lowered my hotdog, and looked away, scowling. Dammit Nick, why do you have to be right about these things?! I tapped my foot rapidly on the tiled floor, refusing to admit anything.

“Jay, it’s just the grocers.” Nick said with a gentle tone, “No one is going to think less of him for doing it. Hell, if you’re so worried, why don’t you come join us sometimes! Then you can see for yourself what people think.” He smiled.  
I grumbled for a moment longer, before accepting the invitation. Nick smiled all cheeky, and if I were to be an honest man, he looked absolutely adorable. Luckily, I wasn’t, so I didn’t say anything. Though I couldn’t help if my body wanted to smile. 

Before we ended our small meal, I remembered my little visit at his house, “Say, Nick?” Nick hummed at the mention of his name. “I went to your house this morning, when I was looking for you.” Nick looked up, now paying full attention, even as he chewed. I looked down, and avoided his eyes, “And while I was looking for you… I happened to glance over certain… things… I think I wasn’t supposed to see.”

Nick’s eyes jumped out of his skull. He hurriedly swallowed, and gasped, then started speaking words a mile a minute, “Whatever you saw, it’s not what you think! I was just rambling th-things! I d-d-didn’t know what I was writing! I-I was drunk! So, whatever was written there were completely exaggerated! I-I-I am not-”  
Nick was panicking. I don’t mention me snooping was a good idea. I pulled Nick by his arms, and held his shoulders, “Hey, hey, hey! Calm down! It’s alright. I didn’t mean to look.”  
Nick was almost on the verge of tears, “I’m sorry, Gatsby. You must think me disgusting!”  
“What are you talking about?” I rubbed his arms.  
“M-my journal? The things in there… oh, God!” Nick sobbed.  
“Hey, hey! I didn’t read your journal.” I stared at him with pleading eyes.  
Nick blinked, “You-you didn’t?”  
“No,” I shook my head.

Nick finally relaxed his shoulders, all tension leaving at once. He closed his eyes, and heaved a heavy sigh of relief, before opening them again, “Then… What are you talking about?”  
“Your… manuscript?” I smiled awkwardly.  
Nick thought for a moment, before his eyes widened in realization. He sighed again, and tilted his head at me, “You mean the one on my desk?”  
I nodded,  
Nick groaned, and shook his head, “I don’t think this is any better.”  
I smiled and nodded, “Mhm. Ernest Emmanuel? I wonder where that name came from?”  
Nick smiled painfully, “It’s just a temporary name. In fact, I think I’ll change it when we get home.”  
“Now, let’s not be hasty, dear sport! I think it’s a great name! Sounds strong, and dangerous! Exactly like your character!” I grinned as I took a sip of my iced tea.  
“Does it?” He rolled his eyes, “Well, I’ll be sure to keep that under suggestions then.”  
“And his backstory? Coming from a poor background? Just screams hometown hero, if I must say. I’m sure your readers would love him.” I tipped my head and drink at him.  
Nick laughed at my teasing, and shook his head, “You are just a whore for praises, aren’t you, Gatsby?”  
I almost spat my drink at that comment, “Nick! I can’t believe you’d call me that!” I laughed. Nick smiled at me, eyes twinkling at the ruckus we were making. Good thing there weren’t many people to see me making a fool of myself. Well, it’s fine I suppose, if it’s in the company of the wonderful man.

“Anyway, it’s all subject to change.” Nick spun the ice cubes inside his glass, tinkling with round they go.  
“So I take it you haven’t let anyone read it?” I tipped my drink at him.  
“No, not yet.” He looked up from his empty glass, and smiled.  
“Then you should let me read it.” I smiled.  
Nick laughed quietly, and shook his head, “I think not, Gatsby.”  
“Why not?” I raised my brows at him.  
He shrugged, “I don’t think I’ll even finish it.”  
“You should. I genuinely think it has potential. And that’s coming from a man with no interest in fiction.” I encouraged, then drank the rest of my iced tea.  
“You really think so?” Nick smiled shyly.  
“I do. Hell, I’ll even help you look for a publisher when you finish it!” I exclaimed.  
Nick smiled wide at me with twinkling eyes, “Thank you, Jay.”  
I stared back to those mystifying eyes, and smiled, “Anytime, Nick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if anyone else saw my other ships in there :P  
> and Nick's story draft is very tempting to write but fck no I'm way to busy already haha  
> but FCK OLD CARS ARE A NIGHTMARE TO UNDERSTAND! THERE'S SO MANY LEVERS, AND ALL THE STUFF THAT SHOULD BE THERE ISN'T!
> 
> oh and If anyone's curious, you can see and read more about Nick's new car [here!](https://rmsothebys.com/en/auctions/hf19/hershey/lots/r0075-1922-buick-six-22-44-three-passenger-roadster/759601)
> 
> Obviously I changed the color, but other than that, it's practically the same!
> 
> ANYWAYS! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment as always, dear readers, I love reading them in between writing. Keeps me motivated and all that :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning: A brief mention of war and involved violence. Nothing graphic but I'd rather be on the safe side.**
> 
> I have no excuse for taking this long to finish this thing!
> 
> Actually, scratch that! I'm not even finished with this pseudo-chapter! I actually planned to include the whole day here! But I took so goddamn long writing this I decided to just post this part of the chapter, and separate them instead!
> 
> Anyway, sorry for taking so long! Pls. enjoy this mess :P

Out of all the things I missed during recovery, I think it would be this.

Running.

Just before the sun begins to rise, when it’s still dark out, and the edge of the horizon blazed with a bright crimson. Unhampered by anyone or anything. Just the cold kiss of air, the heavy drop of my feet, and the burning sensation in my muscles, all serving to remind me that I was alive. No papers, or deadlines. No posturing, or meetings. No wars to settle, or liabilities to untangle.

These days, I pass by Nick’s rose covered house every time. Most days, he’s usually still asleep at this time, far too tired from the night before, or some other distraction he tells me about whenever we get the chance to catch up. But on the few days that he isn’t, I try to coax him into joining me. And ever the reliable one, he’s always eager to join me.

Back then, before the whole pool incident, I’d be running all on my own. I’d try and catch glimpses of the green light from across the bay each time I slowed, and every time it would shine as though it was the crowning light of the dark sky, until the sun rose high from the sea, schooling the petulant thing for its audacity. Now, every time I could see it, I’d just about wanted to set the thing on fire. See how well that green light flickered under a crimson flame.

Thankfully, Nick’s presence on the days that he was with me were enough to distract me from my coiling thoughts. Those days I could enjoy my run fully. Conversations with Nick were light and easy. He always listened to my every meandering thought without judgment aside from his endearing eye rolls, and I turn enjoy his mundane tales. It was simply too easy to be honest around him. So much so, however, that I would talk of my other life, forgetting that Nick was not a part of that, and should never be a part of it.

Once I’d realize my mistake, we’d stop and I’d always watch Nick for any signs of discomfort or revulsion. That maybe he’d be reminded of my immorality, and decide that this one would be the breaking point for him. This time he’d cut me out now. But always he’d only stare at me with solemn eyes, and a quiet nod. Sometimes, he’d even share a tale or two of his time during the war. Of the atrocities he’d committed as well.

“We were raiding a camp once,” Nick once said, eyes going blank, “Bullets were flying everywhere. Bombs were...” He sighed heavily, trying his best to remember that horrid time. “I... I didn’t know it at the time. Everything was just... He just shot one of our own.” He drew a sharp breath, “I had to, you know. I didn’t know that he was...” his voice cracked, “I didn’t know until I turned him around.” Nick was shaking, “I didn’t know he was a kid.” 

He’d broken down that day. We knew there were teens in the war. We just hoped we wouldn’t face any of them. We spent the rest of our jog sitting by the sidewalk trying to calm each other down. Wiping away tears, until the black sky turned blue.

It’s those days I’d be reminded just how much alike we were than I’d want it to be.

...

Today however, was not one of those days. His lights were still off when I came through the back entrance, so I went ahead on my own.

It’s for the best I suppose. Right now, I’m trying to think up of new gift for him for his surprise party. Pops will be leaving soon, and I simply cannot delay Nick’s party any longer! I want to celebrate with all the people I love, just as I should have been doing ages ago. 

While I could have my old man live with me instead, tucking away my line of work is a far more difficult task. I suppose I’ll just have to settle on visiting him on holidays, unideal as that is.

Ah! But back to the matter at hand. Nick’s gift! The car was a decent gift by all accounts, and while I could get him a second car, I highly doubt that Nick is the kind of man to own more than one of the same things. So, the question now is what other thing would Nick want as a gift?

I wish I could just ask the man outright, but that defeats the entire purpose of a surprise. Maybe I could ask Ms. Baker. Perhaps she would know something. Or maybe that fellow, David was it? No, that’s not his name. Bah! He hardly matters right now. 

Coming home from my jog, I saw the ruby gleam of Nick’s car parked right in my driveway. As I came closer, I could see Nick standing right by the door, looking rather snug in his pink sweater and little white hat.

“Nick?” I shouted at him, as I my steps slowed to a halt. Nick twisted around, trying to pinpoint the source of the call, until he focused on me, “Gatsby?”

I walked up to his side, “What are you doing here this early?”  
Nick sucked in a breath, before turning back to the door, “Oh, it’s grocery day. We’re supposed to go there today, remember?”  
“Right,” I nodded as I lifted my shirt to wipe at my face. Pulling it down, Nick seemed rather fixated on my shirt “I’m sorry, Nick, I must look disgusting right now; Let me clean up first!”  
Nick blinked, “Huh? Oh,” He stepped aside, letting me open the door and usher him in.

“Just wait for me in the lounge, will you, dear sport? I’ll be right with you in a moment!” I gestured down the hall as I made my way up the stairs.

...

“Alright, ready to go?” I called as I came into the lounge, where Nick was having tea with one of the maids. She hurriedly made herself scarce as soon as I came into view, apologizing profusely before disappearing down into the halls.  
“Is she new? She seemed rather terrified of you.” Nick remarked.  
“Yes, I noticed that tasks were starting to lag a bit, that I had to hire more help.” I nodded, “I’d give her a week, before she realizes she’s allowed to eat from the pantries.” I smirked at Nick, earning me a small chuckle from him that had him flashing his teeth back at me.

“Anyway, shall we?” I fixed my collar then clapped my hands, before realizing something, “Where’s the old man?”

“Uhm, Mr. Gatsby?” The maid who apparently didn’t leave and was eavesdropping, pops her head out from behind a wall, “I was actually supposed to tell Mr. Carraway that your daddy wasn’t feeling too well, but I, uh-” She didn’t finish the rest of that sentence before I was rushing back up the stairs, Nick keeping in close pace with me.

Before I could slam the doors into my father’s bedroom, Nick stilled my hand at the handle, “Gently, Gatsby. You’re coming in to see your father, not to intimidate a crowd.”  
“Right, of course,” I nodded, relaxing. A few deep breaths after, Nick let go of me, we went in together, “Pops?”

We were greeted with the unfortunate sight of my father padding along half-naked and trying his damnedest to dress himself in his condition, “Didn’t we ever teach ya ta knock!”  
“Pops, what are you doing?”  
“Whaz’ it look like to ya?” He muffled under his shirt.  
I rolled my eyes at him, “You’re sick. You need to stay in bed.”  
“An’ who’s gonna get dinner then, eh? You’re ‘elp don’t exactly know ‘ow ta pick ‘em!” He manages to huff out, before he starts having a sneezing fit, forcing me to walk away, making sure to keep me or Nick from getting anywhere near the blast. Once it calmed down, my father wiped his nose on his sleeves. Well, I better have the maid burn those later.

Making sure he wasn’t going to start sneezing again, I pulled out a napkin and helped him back down on his bed, “Not you obviously.”  
“Me and Jay could just go by ourselves, Henry. Would that be alright?” Nick pipes in.

“Oh no, I’m sure Jimmy has better things to do!” My father tried to stand, but I held him firmly down, “Things that I won’t be able to do sooner if you keep getting up.”  
He tried to squirm his way out of my grasp, but age favors me on this occasion, “Stay put.” I reprimanded, and this time he did, though not without muttering a string of curses that’d make even Wolfsheim blush.  
“Nick and I will go to the grocer, and come home later.” I threw my napkin into the trash can and fixed my collar over, then signaled to the maid from earlier, “Please make sure he behaves.” I pleaded, “And call a doctor for him, please, just so he’s safe. Edgar knows the number.”  
“Yes, sir, Mr. Gatsby!” She nods fervently, as Nick and I made our way out, “Have fun with Mr. Carraway!” She quickly added, though she faltered near the end.

Once outside, Nick asked, “Are you sure it’d be okay? I can do this on my own, you know?” He looked at my father’s bedroom, then down to me.  
“It’s fine, dear sport. My staff’s a capable lot. They’re a little clumsy these days, what with the incident, but I believe they can handle a cranky old man with a cold,” I smiled.  
Nick quirks an eyebrow, lips in a worrisome pout as we got into the car, “We could always do this another time.”  
“No, it’s best I do this now than later.” I eyed myself on the wing mirror, lightly brushing my fingers on my hair, “Besides, I don’t want to catch what he’s having.” I joked, though Nick didn’t seem to find the humor in that, “What?”  
Nick rolled his eyes, and starts the car, driving us out into the city.

...

Nick and I wandered around the grocery store, checking things off of his shopping list. At first, Nick was the one pushing the cart, with me following closely beside him, but at some point, I became the one who pushed it around, as I found it rather awkward to have idle hands. Now Nick was gently pulling the cart along, sprucely guiding us through the many aisles, picking out items from the shelves and filling our cart. For the most part, I was quietly following him along, unsure of what else to do and admittedly a little nervous. Nick on the other hand was completely unbothered with our precarious situation, and instead went for idle talk, “So what are you planning to have for dinner tonight?”

“Oh, my chef usually plans my meals for me.” I tersely replied, “I trust him enough with it, and frankly I haven’t the creativity for cooking.”  
“You don’t know how to cook?” Nick assumes while he picks a number of cans off the shelves.  
“No, I do. I just can’t make them as nice as his,” I clarified, “Although, lately, he seems to have gotten a little lazy with the presentation of it.” I wondered aloud, remembering the lack of any garnish on my roast chicken and gravy, “I suppose it matters little when everything tastes better these days.”  
“Better how?” Nick asks.  
“I don’t know? I just... like it better. Makes me want to have seconds is about the best thing I could tell you.” I tried to answer as I leaned into the cart.  
Nick hummed back with a smile, “I’m glad you’re letting Henry cook at least.”  
“Pardon?” I looked up.  
Nick looks up from the cans, and walks back to me, placing both into the cart, “You do know that he’s cooking now, right?”  
“He is?” I said with genuine surprise.  
Nick laughs lightly, “Doesn’t he? He tells me all the time when we’re buying groceries.”  
I sigh an exhausted breath and muttered to myself, “Damn it. I’m really losing my grip on things.”  
“Huh?” Nick tilted his head, and furrowed his brows.  
“I told him before Nick; we have servants for these things!” I said, trying to keep my voice from shouting. Nick sighed, but remained silent, opting instead to soothe his hand on my back. I rattled on, “It’s their jobs to do it, not ours! I mean that’s what I pay them for, isn’t it?”  
Nick shook his head, keeping concerned eyes trained on me, “It’s just one chore, Gatsby.”  
“One chore.” I shook my head, “One chore, indeed. Then soon it’ll be two. Then three! And then my whole staff would just be letting him do all the work, while they munch off my money like parasites! Think they can just push me a-!”  
“Jay!” Nick cut through my words. I looked up at him, and was locked upon sad, pitying eyes.

My anger diminished, but it was not yet placated. I broke away from his gaze, before steeling myself to tell him off, “Don’t give me that look.”  
“Jay,” He pleaded again, softer this time. He tilted his head closer to see my face better, “You know they’re better than that.” That angered me more. Because he was right. They are better than that. Good people just trying to make ends meet; All of them.

I looked back up at Nick, and once again I was staring into those boundless eyes of his. I frowned and sighed, “I just want what’s best for my father, Nick.” Nick smiled tenderly then, and reached out his hand before pulling it back and holding on to the cart. He looks down on our groceries, and nods, “Don’t we all.”

After a beat, Nick taps the cart, rattling it, “You know what would be best for him now though? Orange juice, and a hot meal!” Nick smiled and gently pulled the cart, prompting me to follow him again.

When Nick had gotten the oranges, and other ingredients that he planned to cook for my sick father, I had managed to plan our meals for the next days, and from there I had politely taken the reigns from Nick, though not without protest, “I thought you said you let your chef plan all your meals?”  
“Yes, but I’m here already, so I might as well get my preference.”

We went around the grocery again to get my ingredients, but since we were here already, I decided to go ahead and take whatever seemed useful or necessary for myself and Nick. Of course I had to buy extras of each item I took, just too make sure we always had something on hand. However, Nick seemed to have become apprehensive of my sudden enthusiasm for grocery shopping, and worried that we may be getting too much, to which I assured that he had nothing to worry about because I was going to pay for the both of us now. That didn’t seem to make Nick’s worried face disappear, but it at least softened into a gentler but concerned smile.

By the time we were finished, our small cart was practically bursting by the bars, trying its best to keep all our items in. Nick’s eyes were completely glued to the pile, hands held up to the pile, ready to reach out and grab at anything that might fall off. When we got to the cashier though, the line was long enough that it reached into the aisles.

“I really don’t think we need all this, Gatsby.” Nick worried again.  
Looking at the pile, I replied, “Really? I actually think we don’t have enough.”  
Nick grimaced, “You know what; Never mind!”

While we waited, Nick decided to inspect the contents of our cart, carefully picking things up here and there, and setting them back into place. I amused myself with watching him go about this for majority of our wait. Delicate fingers gingerly lifting and rearranging them, making the unseemly pile look somewhat like a neatly stacked pyramid. He did this until he finally got to the very bottom, then suddenly, Nick jolts up, “I forgot to get detergent!”

“What for?” I asked confused. Nick looked at me as though I had worn the most saturated shade of red with green. I looked around me again to make sure that he was in fact looking at me and not at some other atrocity, before raising an eyebrow at him. He blinked at me and responded very slowly, “For washing my clothes...?”  
“Don’t you have someone else wash them for you?” I hesitantly asked.  
“I would love to but I’m hanging by my coattails right now.” Nick said with a very confused face. I stared at him baffled, trying to comprehend what his situation is exactly right now.

Nick however, was less inclined to wait for that. Shaking his head out of his confused state, he decided, “I’m going to get some. I promise I won’t take long!” He rushed away before I could say anymore, leaving me alone in the line.

The line for the cashier barely moved as I waited for Nick to come back. Without him to watch, I was utterly bored out of my wits, leaving my eyes to wander around looking for any sort of entertainment. I eventually caught sight of a little girl that was sucking on a lollipop. She seemed to be staring intently right at me. I looked around, just making sure that she was in fact staring at me. I tried to ignore her, but the little thing just kept staring. And staring. And staring...

...

“God, where are you, Nick?” I muttered under my breath.

The little girl continued to bore her eyes into me, unraveling me with each passing minute. Normally, I’d love the attention, but I always found children’s to be unnerving, and quite frankly, unwarranted. I hadn’t done anything spectacular so she had absolutely no reason to look at me. Unless...

I quickly checked myself, looking over every patch, thread and detail of my clothes, hair and skin. Everything was immaculate as always. Not a single thing out of place. So why does this thing still-

“Hey, mister!” The tiny vermin squeaked at me, suddenly mere inches from where I was standing. I almost yelped at the intrusion, grimacing instead at the thing that has yanked my attention. I feigned a polite smile at her, “Ah, hello, little... girl?”  
She popped her lollipop out, spitting saliva all over my pants, “You’re pretty!” She giggled menacingly.  
“Uh, thank you?” I politely replied, “Um, could you-”  
“Are you a prince?!” She loudly and rudely interrupted.  
I hardened my smile, “Aha, no, but- hey!” She pulled at my coat with her grubby fingers, “Really? But you look so pretty!”  
I stifled a groan, “Aha, thank you, but could you please not touch me.”  
The thing listened well enough at least, and she let go of my coat. I checked the spot where she touched me, and just as I feared, she’d made the fabric all sticky, making me cringe at the sensation.  
“So what are you doing here, Mr. Prince, sir?” She asked.  
“Same reason as you, I suppose.” I muttered.  
“You got a toy?!” She awed.  
“Oh, ah, no.”  
“Then what?” She asked a bit disappointed.  
“Just grocery-,” I shook my head, “You know what? Where are your parents?”

The little girl looked around, lazily chewing on her lollipop. Her eyes drifted every which way, until she finally stopped and stared. Then she cried.

Everyone’s attention was suddenly all on us. Their glares of ire and discomfort at me evident in their faces. I tried to console the child as best I could, shushing her with as much gentleness as one could under such strenuous circumstances, until her wailing ever so slowly died down to hiccups, and the occasional sniffle.

Once she had completely calmed down, I heaved a sigh of relief, closing my eyes for a moment to feel the anxiety of the moment lift off my shoulders. After that I asked, “What’s wrong?”  
Between muffled cries and snot, she answered, “Muh-my parents! Th-they’re n-not...!” I cast my gaze all over the store before bending down to hush the kid, “Hey, hey! It’s alright! They’ll be back.” I hushed and smiled, patting her head lightly, “Tell you what? I’ll wait with you here until your parents come back, hm?” I smiled at her, then I quickly scanned the store, looking for any seemingly distraught people. Nothing it seemed, but my eyes did settle on a bar of chocolate. I took it off the shelf, and gave it to the little girl, “Here you go, doll.”  
The little girl’s eyes lit up like fireworks at the offering and quickly snatched it from my fingers. She ripped it open, and was about to take a large bite off it, before her eyes flashed with a sudden thought. She pulled back from biting the bar, and, shyly, said, “Thank you, Mr. Prince, sir.”  
I laughed at her, and ruffled her brown tufts, “You’re very welcome, little doll!”

While we waited, the line got shorter and shorter until it was my turn at the cashier. While I was pilling the contents of our cart on to the counter, while the little girl stood closely beside me, tugging at the hem of my suit. The cashier eyed the chocolate bar she was nibbling on, and I gave him a smile, and quickly told him to add it to the receipt. While the cashier was busy checking our items, Nick finally got back, running up to me and looking rather ruffled. The little girl hid behind me as he approached.

“You took your sweet time.” I teased as I swept my eyes over his figure, then noticed, “Where’s the detergent?”  
“Oh, uh,” Nick clenched then opened his hands, “Turns out they were out. I’ll just have to buy one some other day.”  
“You know, you could just hand me your laundry. I have a washer that I could send them to.”  
“Uh, yes, sure,” Nick replied absently, as he scanned the store, clearly looking for something, before he turned to the cashier, “Could you hurry this up, please?”  
The cashier rolled his eyes, going only the slightest bit faster, if at all. 

“Is something wrong?” I worried.  
“Hm?” Nick hummed absently before the questioned registered in his mind, “Oh, no. I just, um; I want to get this over with soon, so I can get back to business as usual.” He waved.  
I hissed then grinned at him, “Well, see, dear sport, we might be stuck here for a bit longer.”  
Nick’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed, “Why? What’s wrong?”  
From her hiding spot, the little girl peeked out, and timidly looked at the imposing Nick. His eyes popped out of his skull as he stared at her, before staring back at me with a very confused and maybe panicked look, “Wha- Who is that?”  
“Lisa!”, She squeaked. Nick stared again, before looking back again at me, still demanding an answer. I smiled and nervously replied, “A... friend?”

The cashier coughed then, and we all looked at him. He pushed the bags back into our arms and promptly shooed us off. As we made our way out, I pulled Nick aside to a nearby bench and sat all three of us on it, Lisa in the middle of us. Setting our groceries aside, I looked at Nick, and explained, “We have to wait here for her parents.”  
Nick scowled, “Wait? Christ, Gatsby, we should be taking her to the station!”  
I reluctantly offered him a shy grin, “Yes, but, I sort of promised her that we’d wait for her parents here?”  
Nick was left aghast, “So?!”  
“I don’t want to break my promise to a little girl, Nick!” I pleaded him, “That’s just not right!”  
Nick tried to argue further but relented, choosing instead to stew whatever thoughts he had flying around in his head. Though his mood didn’t stay sour for too long for when he gave a quick glance at the little girl, who was cheerily nibbling away at her chocolate bar, swinging her legs here and there, his eyes softened, and he gave just an inkling of a smirk.

As endearing as this was however, she was making an unacceptable mess of herself. I bent down to pull out a tissue from the grocery bags and wiped the chocolate that had spread all over the girl’s face. She squirmed a bit from the action, and Nick scowled at me, “Easy, Gatsby. No need to be so rough on her.”  
“Oh, come now, Nick, she’s an absolute mess!” I complained, though I did soften just a tad bit.  
“She’s just a kid. You can’t exactly blame her for that?” He teased, and took the tissue from my hands, and gently wiped the rest off her himself. I rolled my eyes and chuckled, “No, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be presentable!”  
After he’s done wiping her down, Nick patted her knees, “There! Now use this to hold on to that from now on,” he handed her another tissue, “and don’t wipe anything on your dress! God knows what your mother goes through to clean that thing.” He ruffled her head, making her giggle more, and messing up her pretty hair. I fussed over it, neatly brushing it back into place, all the while Nick was laughing at me.

Finally, a young couple burst out of the doors, looking very much frazzled as they quickly swiveled every which way, before Lisa excitedly screamed, “Mama! Papa!”

They quickly turned and gasped, _“Topolina!”_ Lisa jumped off the bench and flung herself into their arms. They hugged her tightly, practically squeezing her half to death. Nick and I stood by and let them have their moment, before the father finally stood up, and thanked us profusely, they walked away, as little Lisa waved cheerily at us. We waved back at her, until they got on to their car, and drove off.

Once the quiet settled in, Nick looked around us then spoke, “We should probably go now.”  
“Right, lets!” I nodded. We picked up our grocery bags and made our way to the car. Nick hurried me along, practically pushing me even, and once we made it, he quickly loaded, or rather threw, all the bags on to the car, and shoved me in.

Suffice to say, it was all very jarring from the usually calm and polite dear sport that I was accustomed to. When he got into the driver’s seat, I began to tease, “Quite in a hurry, aren’t you? Anyone else get shot?”  
Nick glared at me with a confused look before he caught on, “Huh? Oh. Sorry.” I chose to smile at him, “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”  
Nick sighed heavily, “I... I just want to be done with this.” Nick started the car and drove. He remained silent, letting the air hang heavy with anxiety.

I tried not to bring it up, choosing to distract myself with the scenery outside. Unfortunately, I’m not very good at keeping quiet, and went instead for small talk, “The weather’s quite nice today, isn’t it?”  
Nick grunted.  
I pouted, but tried again, “Sure would be a shame not to enjoy the rest of it.”  
Nick grunted again.

I sighed. He really was in a foul mood. Not even deigning to give me a proper response except for disgruntled noises. I’d have tried to prod more but Nick was dead set on not speaking more on the matter. I had to think of some other way to cheer him up.

So an impromptu adventure was in order. “Nick,” I called. He raised his eyebrows at me, and turned his head just the slightest. His eyes were still plastered to the road, but at least I knew he was listening, “Would you mind stopping by my office?”

Nick’s eyebrows quirked oddly but he shrugged his shoulders, and obliged.

...

“Matthew, old sport!” I burst through his office doors, surprising the man, and apparently, his wife. “Gatsby?” Matthew exclaimed. Nick quickly followed inside after, making the couple even more confused. “Nick?” He exclaimed again. Nick waved, and gave an apologetic smile but said nothing. Once that was out of the way, I threw Nick’s keys to him. Matthew caught them with fumbling hands, scattering the papers all over his desk. His wife managed to catch a few, but most fell on the floor.  
“You mind driving this car to my home?” I asked him with a smile, “It’s full of my groceries, and I simply have to get them home now.”  
“Your what?” Matthew exclaimed, then shook his head, “Groceries? Car? What is happening?”  
“Long story; tell you later. And thank you!” With that I turned and grabbed Nick by his shoulder, “Come on, Nick, let’s go!”  
“Sorry!” Nick hastily offered, before we disappeared behind Matthew’s doors and left.

...

“Alright, Gatsby, mind telling me why we’re here exactly?” Nick wondered, lazily batting his eyelids at the lush, verdant flora blooming across the vast garden. Thinking quickly, I smoothly replied, “The change in seasons demands I have the flowers in and around the estate changed.” I turned to Nick, and saw him intensely studying a tiny blue flower. He gingerly touches it with a finger, aiming at first to hold it by its stem before retracting his fingers and settling instead to tracing its slowly browning edges, committing each delicate detail of its soft petals to memory. A warm smile grew on me, as he Nick continued to observe it, completely unaware of my observance of him. 

Although, as beautiful as this sight was, I had to unfortunately pull him out of it. Giving him a short moment longer, I addressed him, “I thought it wonderful to have someone help me choose some flowers.”

Nick pulled away from the flower and walked back to my side, an eyebrow quirked at me, “Choose? Here?” He looked all around us, “You are aware that we can’t take any of the flowers from the Conservatory, right?”  
I smiled, “Of course! I just wanted to see what flowers they had blooming here. See if I’ll fancy any from here.”  
“We could have done that and bought some too if we went to a Gardener’s Shop.” Nick chastised, though there was no real bite to it.  
“True,” I smirked, “But what are the chances we’d find one that matched my impeccable tastes in the first store we go to?”  
Nick rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same, “Alright, fine.” He shrugged, “Lead the way?”

I lead Nick through the garden, a steady hand on his back. Although we were here to (falsely) look at the flowers, I kept my eyes trained mostly on Nick, watching for any shift in his emotions. Slowly but surely, his eyes grew brighter and brighter again as he marveled at the beauty of the many wonderful flowers that bloomed all through out this peaceful oasis. A stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the rest of New York. He slowed down significantly as we walked each time we came to a patch of new flowers, walking closer to them to see them in better detail, taking in the scents and colors of each and every one of them, a charming smile blooming on his lips, “I didn’t realize flowers could still grow in autumn.” He quietly spoke.  
“Oh they do, dear sport,” I cheerily explained.  
“I wish I had brought a notebook. I would have loved to have drawn some of these.”  
“You can draw?” I asked with mild surprise  
“Little bit,” He blushed, and brushed his hand over a crease on his sweater that I couldn’t see, “Nothing extravagant or anything. Just skilled enough to give shape to something.”  
I hummed in acknowledgment, “Well, you simply must show some them to me now that I know.”  
Nick laughed heartily, “Goodness, no! I’d rather burn them, than let you anywhere near my doodles!”  
“I bet they’re wonderful.” I teased.  
Nick smiled and blushed harder, ears turning a wonderful shade of pink, before his eyes popped, and grimaced, “You didn’t see any of them did you?”  
I turned to him, eyebrows raised, “No?” Then it dawned on me, and I exclaimed, “Were they in your desk?!”  
“What?! No!” He quickly shouted, then shrunk back into himself when he realized just how loud he said that, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter; they’ll never see the light of day ever again.”  
We strolled further through the garden, stopping every now and then to check on a flower that’s caught Nick’s keen eyes. Chrysanthemums, tulips, roses, and more from all over the world, some in bloom, others still buds, but none of them can quite compare to Nick’s perennial charm. 

“Nick, my dear sport!” I cheerily called. He looked up from the pink roses that’s caught his fancy, “I have some flowers in mind for my garden.” I nodded to the walkway behind the fountain, roofed by wisterias hanging lavishly upon the pergola, it’s beautiful purple petals bursting with life against the golden hue of its leaves.

Nick was all but enthralled by it’s majesty, eyes exploring every branch and awning of the walkway. He was so enchanted that I had to hold him by his arm, walk him around myself.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they?” I smiled, taking in every twinkle and spark that ignited in his eyes. “They’re amazing!” He awed, “It’s like a scene straight out of a Midsummer Night’s Dream!” I laughed at the obscure reference, “Is that good?”  
He finally looked down from the canopies and excitedly grinned at me, “More than good. It’s absolutely wonderful!”  
I smiled, “Well, we’re lucky then. Wisterias...” I gestured around us, finally taking in the scene myself, “They hardly ever bloom in autumn.”  
Nick’s smile grew even brighter then, as he marveled at the grace of these enchanting blossoms.

Tearing my eyes of off him, I scanned the area for any photographers. Fortunately, there was one currently taking a photo of two women cheerily posing for the camera. I patted Nick’s arm, and nodded towards the photographer, “Come on, dear sport!”

As we walked up to him, the women noticed us and became giddy.  
“Is that Mr. Gatsby?” The woman whispered to her friend. The photographer, slightly annoyed by the girl’s sudden movements, turned to where they were looking and all but gasped, “Ey! Mr. Gatsby! Is that you?”  
I smiled at them, “Seems my reputation precedes me.” I nodded, “Ladies.” They laughed, “With those lavish parties you threw, how could it not?” She looked to her friend, “It’s a shame you don’t throw them anymore, we loved going there.” Her friend nodded along, “Good music, free drinks, and wonderful sights all throughout the night!” She giggled to her friend, and winked at her, “What wasn’t their to love?”  
I smiled at them, “Well, sorry to say, ladies, but I’m afraid the parties are over for this one.”  
“Oh, well.” They shrugged, “There’s always Madame Letitia’s balls. Not as big, but definitely has less of the hangups.” She shimmied her closer to her friend making her giggle. The photographer rolled his eyes at them, and told them to sit still.

“Well, after you ladies, me and my friend here would like to have our picture taken.” I patted Nick’s arm, and he politely nodded at the women.  
One of them suddenly waved up from her seat, “Oh, would you mind if we had one photograph with you, Mr. Gatsby?” The other stood up too, “Oh! Would you, please? It’d be fantastic to be able to brag about actually meeting the great Gatsby himself!”  
I chuckled, “Oh, I would love to ladies, but I’m with my dear friend here, and I don’t want to exclude him.” I turned to Nick, and smiled at him. He blushed, and waved shyly at the ladies. The women looked to each other briefly, then without any hesitation, insisted “Oh, your handsome friend can join, too!”

I looked to Nick for his permission, tugging at his arm that he’s wrapped around mine, if he would mind posing with the two lovely strangers. He seemed hesitant at first, but a quick thought over and he smiled back and shrugged.  
“Alright, we’ll take you up on that offer, then!”

The women sat apart and offered me a seat between them, while Nick sat off to the side. The three of us squeezed in together, smiling wide for the camera, while Nick stiffly sat on his own, offering a shy smile. I reached out to him, urging him to come closer, and once he had inched close enough, I pulled him down by his shoulders, and squeezed him in with the rest of us. His hands landed on the other woman’s hips and she jolted from the sudden weight on her, before settling back in, and leaving Nick’s hands where they were.

After the photo was taken, the women thanked us and waved us goodbye, cheerily talking until they were out of earshot.

While the photographer was setting up his camera again, Nick and I fixed ourselves to be a little more presentable. Nick sat down on the bench, while I stood behind him, and held his firm but tense shoulders. I looked down at him, as he looked up to me briefly locking eyes before he looked away.  
“What’s wrong, Nick?” I asked  
Nick sighed, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”  
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I squeezed his shoulders, letting Nick relax into my fingers.

The photographer took our shot, and I leaned down closer to Nick, squeezed his tense shoulders, and whispered gently, “Relax, Nick. It’s just a photo.”  
“It’s not that,” He whispered back, as he relaxed into my fingers.  
“What?” I smiled, as the photographer took a second shot. I continued to knead my fingers on him, “You know you can tell me, Nick. We’ve no secret between ourselves.” Nick grumbled and pouted, still intent on not talking about whatever it is that’s been bothering him today.

“Scoot over, dear sport.” I squeezed his shoulders one last time before moving around the bench to sit beside him, but Nick moved to the very edge of the bench.  
“You’re too far, dear sport.” I reached out to him, and he carefully made his way next to me, keeping his eyes trained on the bench as if there were minefields hidden underneath it. Once he was settled, I rest my arm behind him, and held his shoulder. Nick seemed to have shrunken into himself though, keeping his eyes down and cheeks flushing a delicate rosy pink.

“There’s no need to be shy!” I smiled, and patted his shoulder, “Smile for the camera! How else will the photographer get that handsome smile of yours?” Nick gave a hearty chuckle then. That seemed to do the trick, as he sat straighter, relaxing his broad chest, and smiling gently at the camera.

Once our last photo was taken, I gave my mailing address to the photographer for him to send our photos once he was done processing them, and with a quick tip of his hat he left. Nick meanwhile, had wandered back down to the open garden, positively blooming now compared to earlier. A wide, beautiful smile upon his face, his lips parting just enough to glimpse those pristine pearly whites of his. His broad shoulders relaxing under the warmth of the sun as he breathed in the still fresh scents of the beds of vibrant red, and deep blue flowers, blossoming atop the yellowing green of leaves; his arms hanging loosely by his sides.  
Nick eventually notices me, and walks back. I met him halfway, then he teased, “So? Found anything you like?”  
“Yes.” I smiled at him, studying every crease on his face and glimmer in his eyes.  
He smiled wider, and teased further, “Care to share?”  
Glancing on his hat I noticed a stray wisteria had fallen on him, “I’m looking at it.”  
“Ha?” Nick blinked.  
I smiled wider.  
His face got red.  
I laughed then. I love getting a rise out of Nick. It’s just too precious an opportunity to shake off his demure exterior. I lifted my hand up to his hat, Nick eyes, trained carefully on it, before gently pulling the stray flower off his hat, and brushing it along his nose. Nick shook his head, and stared at it.  
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” I smoothly teased, and wiggling my eyebrows at him.  
Nick drew in a sharp breath, then hysterically spoke, “Oh God! Of course! The flower on my hat, you mean?! Yes, they’re beautiful.”

Nick quickly walked away, babbling to himself, while I laughed at my devastatingly shy friend. One day, someone will mean that to you, my dear sport.

We walked back to the car in mostly companionable silence, with sometimes idle chatter filling the small space between us, but for the moment Nick’s light presence was more than enough to fill it.

“Thank you, Jay.” Nick said with a tender note to my name, a warm smile blooming on his dear face. “This was fun.”  
I laughed lightly, “The pleasure was mine, dear sport.”  
We stopped in front of our car, rather disappointed that our little break is over, but Nick needs to get back into that damned rat race now. I only wish he’d join me instead. He wouldn’t even have to dirty himself with my work! I’d find something else for him to do in my company; Invent one if I needed to!

Unfortunately, Nick is far too honest a man for even that, and I would be loathe to tarnish that further. “Suppose, I’ll have to take you home now. Job hunting and all that.” I sighed, feigning a smile.  
Nick stiffened beside me, smile slowly withering away, “I...!” He stopped then resigned, “Suppose...”  
“You could take a break from it.” I frowned, “Just for one day, Nick, dear sport! A day all to yourself. No scouring the streets. No lining up for interviews. No giving shits for anyone else but yourself!”  
Nick considered it. The gears in his head slowly turning. Finally, heaving deeply, he nodded, “Okay.”

I grinned from ear-to-ear, and patted him hard on the back, “Yes! You won’t regret this, dear sport!” I pulled him in close by his shoulders, “So what do you want to do first?”  
“I’m not entirely sure.” Nick admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “Apart from the speakeasies, your parties, and work I never really went out for anything else in the city.”  
Immediately, my mind started listing every single thing Nick and I could do, the endless possibilities making me giddy with excitement like a child about to rip his presents on Christmas day, “Well, how do you want to spend it? A relaxing day at the spa? A quiet afternoon in the MET? Wanna watch a movie, a play? We could head for Broadway! Or, if you’re feeling a little adventurous, Coney Island? Maybe go swimming even? Or horseback riding? You haven’t tried that before have you, dear sport!” I kept going on and on as we drove down New York, not sure where exactly we’d go next, but it would be the best experience Nick would have ever had, I guarantee! I was already making it great if Nick’s laughing and grinning were any indication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, fuck, I guess we're having three chapters of Natsby things, APPARENTLY ._.
> 
> I promise, this is supposed to be angsty but I'm too soft on them I'm sorry!
> 
> One last thing, I have never been to New York, I'm not even from America, and I know next to nothing about it apart from pop culture osmosis.


End file.
